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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23284051">Nothing Less</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twice_before_Friday/pseuds/Twice_before_Friday'>Twice_before_Friday</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Prodigal Son (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftermath of Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Torture</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 10:15:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>23,166</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23284051</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twice_before_Friday/pseuds/Twice_before_Friday</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt</p><p>Anything where John completely takes Malcolm apart (emotionally, physically, sexually whatever), but then Gil is there to help him put the pieces back together.</p><p>(I hope this is what you were looking for)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gil Arroyo &amp; Malcolm Bright, Malcolm Bright/Paul Lazar | John Watkins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>118</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Prodigal Son Trash Swap Spring 2020!</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Nothing Less</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/evaagna/gifts">evaagna</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Eva, I hope this wasn't too dark for what you had prompted! </p><p>Thank you so much to KateSamantha for the beta on this one and for talking me through my doubts.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s been just over a week since the team rescued Malcolm from John Watkins, but Bright still feels trapped in that room, chained to the floor. The first few days in the hospital were spent blissfully unconscious and Malcolm discovered immediately upon waking that he’d give anything to go back to that vacuous state of nothingness. The rest of his stay in the hospital was a different kind of hell, fought against tooth and nail until he could finally sign himself out AMA. The physical pain is one thing. He can work through that. But mentally? Emotionally? Even he knows he’s a whole different level of broken than he ever was before.</p><p>The nightmares that have been plaguing him since he was just a boy are a children’s puppet show compared to the ones that are haunting him now. Outside of the heavy sedation that they had administered those first few days, he hasn’t been able to sleep for more than an hour or two at a time. And even then, he spends so much time thrashing and screaming and pulling at the restraints, abused muscles straining to the point of tearing, that he wakes more exhausted than before he went to sleep.</p><p>He feels the strain wearing him down, grinding down the edges and leaving him stripped and raw. He doesn’t even feel like himself anymore. Every day he feels himself slipping further and further away, but he doesn’t know how to make it stop. Doesn’t know if he even wants it to. Part of him hopes that, eventually, enough of him will be gone that he'll stop existing in a state of panic and fear and pain. Stop feeling like a victim. Stop being anything at all.</p><p>He can tell that Gil recognizes the despondent gaze for what it is as he helps Bright up to his apartment, arm wrapped firmly around his waist as they slowly hike up the endless flights of stairs and finally make their way inside. Malcolm’s breath is coming in too-short pants, sweat beading on his forehead and upper lip as they shuffle to the sofa. Gil gingerly lowers Malcolm down and Malcolm sees the man wince sympathetically at the groan that escapes his lips.</p><p>As soon as Malcolm is leaned back against the couch, eyes shut tight as he breathes through the pain, Gil heads to the fridge to grab a bottle of water before joining Bright on the sofa, pulling a bag of prescription medications out of his jacket pocket before he sits.</p><p>Various pain killers, Doxycycline prophylaxis for post-exposure STI prevention, post-surgery antibiotics and a couple of bottles that Malcolm isn't entirely sure what they're for, all get laid out on the table in front of them. Malcolm spares a brief moment to think that his new diet is going to be more pills than food as he looks at the bottles, but doesn't have time to dwell as Gil is popping the lid of the painkillers and handing one over along with the bottle of water.</p><p>He's too tired to argue so he tosses the pill back, but resolutely refuses to touch the water, a tremor running through him as he looks at the bottle. Gil shoots him a concerned look but places the bottle on the table and pulls a folded square of paper from the inside pocket of his jacket, opens it up and smooths it out on his knee. Bright knows it's his care instructions - how to keep the wounds clean, when to go back to have the various stitches and staples removed, how often to take each of the pills and directions for what to take them with - but he just doesn't care. He sinks a little lower on the sofa, clenching his teeth as it pulls on his stitches, and tips his head against the backrest.</p><p>It's several minutes before he realizes Gil is talking and he tries to make himself focus, but it's hard. He keeps getting lost in the memories and he just wants it all to stop. Gil eventually gets up and starts moving about the kitchen and Bright hears something about "can't take it on an empty stomach," but the comforting sounds of Gil bustling around in the kitchen are lulling him into an uneasy doze.</p><p>---</p><p>
  <strong>0 hours</strong>
</p><p>After he finds Shannon bleeding out on the kitchen table while Matilda regales them with recollections of a glorified past, he knows he should call for back-up. But he needs answers. The FBI has made it painfully clear that he isn't welcome anywhere near this case, so if he calls it in, his chance to talk to Paul Lazar—John Watkins, he corrects himself—goes up in smoke. He needs just five minutes to talk to him, to find out what happened to the girl in the box, and then he'll call. Maybe ten minutes. There are, after all, a lot of questions he needs answered.</p><p>Getting knocked to the ground as he enters the small garage takes him by surprise, though maybe it shouldn't. His worst scores in field agent training were always for clearing corners. His instructor told him in no uncertain terms that if he didn't work to improve that, he was going to end up dead, sooner rather than later.</p><p>He doesn't have long to contemplate that before John Watkins leans into his space, voice gravelly as he quips, "We have to stop meeting like this," before leaning in, the dim light from outside filtering through the open door and illuminating his face as he asks, "Remember me?"</p><p>And Malcolm does. It's like a rapid-fire slideshow in his head as memories come flickering to life, little snatches here and there from when he was a boy, no context to any of the images, just a series of stills flipping rapidly behind his eyes. Between the vague feeling of danger that settles into his bones at the images from his past, and the fresh horror in his mind of Shannon gurgling on his own blood as he choked around his slit throat, Malcolm comes face to face with his mortality when, with a sudden rush, he understands that he's about to die.</p><p>Once again, he'd ignored Gil's warning and failed to call for backup. No one is going to come bursting through the door with a dramatic last minute rescue, because no one knows where he is, no one even knows that John Watkins is their killer. He doesn't doubt that the team will make the connection eventually, but it won't be in time to stop John from slitting his throat like he did Shannon's. It provides a little comfort, knowing that Watkins won't get away forever, but his voice still shakes as he says, "They'll find you."</p><p>John wraps his hands in Malcolm's jacket and yanks his upper body off the ground, smirking as he informs him, "They'll never find us where we're going."</p><p>It's like a sledgehammer to the chest as he realizes that John doesn't intend to just kill him and run. He's going to take Malcolm with him. Malcolm only has a second to start to panic, eyes going wide and heart pounding in his chest before John's fist comes down hard on his head. He doesn't even feel it when he hits the ground.</p><p>He's in and out of consciousness for a long time after that, floating to the surface only to be pulled back under before he can make sense of his surroundings. He's vaguely aware of being dropped into the trunk of a car, the impact jostling him enough to attempt to open his eyes, but he's out again before the meaning of his location can sink in. He remembers the feeling of being carried in strong arms, remembers putting up a weak fight, remembers the rumble in the chest that he's pressed up against as John chuckles and says, "Shh, little Malcolm, we're almost there."</p><p>It's not until he wakes up and finds himself chained to the floor that things get clear again.</p><p>---</p><p>Gil watches from the kitchen as Malcolm's body sinks further into the couch, the pinched look around the kid's mouth and eyes only fading when he finally stops moving. Physically, Gil knows there is no way that Bright was ready to be discharged from the hospital; he still has too many healing wounds that need to be tended to and there are a number of things that Malcolm won't be able to manage on his own for a little while longer. But over the past few days in the hospital, Gil has watched as Malcolm slips further and further away, drawing into himself as he becomes less responsive by the hour. He knows that taking him home won't be some magic cure-all, but if all Bright wants is to leave the hospital then Gil is damn well going to make sure it happens.</p><p>Besides, there are no visiting hours to respect at Malcolm's apartment, so he doesn't need to worry about getting kicked out every night.</p><p>The fridge is sparsely filled to start with but is practically barren after Gil makes multiple trips to the garbage under the sink, tossing most of what's in there. All of the produce and the small amount of meat that Bright had in there had spoiled in the week-and-a-half since Bright had last been home. The reminder of the time makes Gil cringe. One week in the hospital was bad enough. But prior to that were the four days John Watkins had Malcolm at his mercy. Four days of physical and psychological abuse. Four days of repeated sexual assaults.</p><p>Gil has to grasp the edge of the counter with both hands to keep from hitting something. He shakes with the force of his grip as he rides out the sudden spike of rage. He's been doing his best not to let Malcolm see just how angry he is. The kid has enough of his own emotions to sort through and certainly doesn't need to add Gil's to the mix. But sometimes it hits him so hard and so fast that it feels like his blood has turned to molten lava, sludging its way through his veins and leaving him shaking at the heat.</p><p>Once the worst of it has passed, he releases his grip on the counter and rubs a thumb over the indents left behind on the tender skin of his palms before moving back to the fridge to find something he can cook up for Bright.</p><p>There's only a handful of condiments and bottles of water left in the fridge by the time he's tossed the expired and rotten food. He checks the freezer and finds some Bright-sized portions of leftovers, clearly packed by Jessica's cook in small, clear containers. Choosing what looks to be rice and chicken, he dumps it onto a plate and tosses it in the microwave on defrost then moves around the kitchen to gather cutlery and a napkin to go along with it. He looks at the knife and fork that he's laid out on the counter and then over to the microwave. There's one piece of chicken breast on the plate, large enough to require cutting, and Gil debates whether or not he should cut it up. Malcolm's broken hand and immobilized arm is going to make navigating meals difficult, but it seems oddly intimate and presumptive to cut it into bite-sized pieces for him.</p><p>He decides to put the cutlery on the plate and let Bright decide, carrying it in to the man where he's resting on the sofa. Although resting might not be the right word, Gil decides, as he takes in Malcolm's furrowed eyebrows and rapid breathing. He wishes Malcolm would just take the sedatives that the doctor offered and get some sleep. It's been difficult watching him the last few days, seeing the circles under his eyes darken and replace his fading bruises, seeing him fight sleep every time it tries to claim him, watching as the nightmares completely destroy any rest he might have found. But he knows Malcolm is terrified of being trapped in this new nightmare, and he can't say he blames him.</p><p>"Bright?" Before Malcolm can sink further into his memories, Gil calls his name softly, hoping to wake him without startling him. "Bright," he tries again a little louder when he receives no response.</p><p>Gil gently lays a warm hand on Malcolm's shoulder and watches with sadness as his eyes shoot open and he flinches back into the corner of the couch. He understands that it has nothing to do with him, but it still hurts to see the kid react to his touch that way. He schools his expression before Bright can feel guilty and quietly states, "Kid, you need to eat something so you can take your pills."</p><p>Bright blows out his breath, and it looks to Gil like he's trying to exhale the tension that's pulling his muscles taut. It doesn't work. His body still looks tense as Malcolm pushes himself up straight, and Gil notices that he's trying not to wince too much at the movement. Once he's settled, Gil lowers the plate to Malcolm's lap then bends to grab the next dose of antibiotics for him, tipping one of the pills into his hand and passing it over to Malcolm.</p><p>Malcolm swallows the pill dry then looks down at the plate with a raised eyebrow and Gil regrets that he didn't just cut the damn meat. With Bright's left arm in a sling and hand in a cast, there's no way for him to manage it on his own.</p><p>"Sorry," Gil says somewhat sheepishly as he sits beside Malcolm and takes the plate back. He makes quick work of slicing the breast into smaller slices and then puts the plate back on Malcolm's lap, but Malcolm just sits and stares at the plate, complexion turning a slightly green hue the longer he looks at the food.</p><p>Gil hadn't originally planned on staying the night. His plan had been to get Malcolm settled in and then give him the space he seemed to be needing. But watching him now, seeing how lost and helpless he is, Gil realizes that there's no way he can leave him alone like this.</p><p>"Bright, I'm going to run home and grab a few things, alright? Will you be okay on your own for an hour or so?" He doesn't really like the idea of leaving him alone at all, but if he grabs a couple changes of clothes and his toiletry kit, he can stay for a few days without having to leave again. He's already requested emergency leave and has at least the next week available to stay with Malcolm.</p><p>It takes a moment for Gil's words to filter through the fog of Malcolm's mind, but eventually he looks up at Gil and nods once, his default answer of, "I'm fine," spilling out of his mouth without thought.</p><p>Gil reaches over without thinking to place a comforting hand on Malcolm's uninjured one, but Malcolm jerks his arm back, startled. Gil stutters out an apology right away, but he also recognises that he's going to have to be far more careful about the casual touches that typically happen without a second thought. He knows that Bright usually finds comfort in a warm hand on the back of his neck or a pat on the shoulder, but things are different now.</p><p>"Kid, you're really not fine. You'll get there, but not today. So I'm going to grab a few things and then come right back, okay?" Gil is starting to get concerned about the way Malcolm is just staring at his food, and even more concerning, the knife on his plate.</p><p>"Yeah," Malcolm says absently before he looks up at Gil with a startling intensity. "You should take the spare key. It's in the top drawer of the credenza, left hand side. It'll be good for someone to have in case there's an emergency."</p><p>The way he says it, though, makes Gil think that Malcolm really means someone should have a key in case things get so bad that Bright’s blood needs to be scrubbed off the floor before his mother can finally lease the space to Panera like she often threatens to do. He can't just leave him like this.</p><p>"You know what? It can wait," Gil says, standing up and taking the knife from Malcolm's plate before moving towards the kitchen. "Why don't you try and eat some of that while I make a phone call?"</p><p>Gil isn't willing to leave the room, so he goes over to the large window beside Bright's bed and pulls out his phone. He speaks quietly, although even from where he's standing he can tell that Bright is lost in his head once again and probably wouldn't hear him even if he had the conversation right beside him. Within minutes, Jessica has arranged to have a number of Gil's things picked up and brought over to Malcolm's place, along with a healthy amount of groceries, sparing Gil the trip. It takes considerably more time to assure Jessica that Malcolm is doing alright and for Gil to promise that he's looking after him and will call if they need anything.</p><p>Gil runs a hand over his face as he hangs up and slowly makes his way back to Bright, stopping just behind the couch and watching the tremor run through the profiler's body as he stares at the bottle of water on the table in front of him. Malcolm still hasn't been entirely open about everything that happened to him when John had him, but Gil is going to need to get to the bottom of whatever this is right now, because Malcolm needs to drink more to replenish his fluids or he'll end up on an IV, or likely even back in the hospital again, and soon.</p><p>---</p><p>
  <strong>56 hours</strong>
</p><p>He's been laying in a pool of his own blood for hours. It's mostly turned tacky and started to congeal, but he's fairly certain he's still sluggishly bleeding and adding fresh fluid with every pump of his heart. He's too dizzy to move himself out of the puddle and doesn't have the energy to care. Muzzy thoughts are trying to form, trying to tell him he needs water, but he can’t seem to focus on the thoughts for very long.</p><p>It feels like it’s been quite a few hours since John last visited and Malcolm is starting to wonder if the man changed his mind and is purposely withholding food and water like he did with his previous victims, or if he’s just forgotten that Malcolm will die without it.</p><p>He recalls reading once that most adults can survive three to four days without water, but that likely didn’t take into account the blood loss that is draining additional fluids from his body. He thinks he may not have much longer, and he’s not as upset about it as he would have expected.</p><p>However long he’s been trapped, it’s been one horror after the next and he’s not entirely sure he even wants to make it out alive at this point. Mostly, he just wants it to be over.</p><p>Right as he’s sinking into unconsciousness, the door bangs open and John strides into the room, carrier bag in tow. “Good morning,” he says conversationally. “Today you will atone for your sins, young Malcolm.” He seats himself in the chair in front of Malcolm and opens the bag, pulling out a bottle of water and setting it on the floor before reaching back in and pulling out a single tail whip.</p><p>Malcolm doesn’t attempt to get up, but he does tilt his head ever so slightly to get a better look at what John is doing. Which seems to be staring at Malcolm and waiting for a response.</p><p>Malcolm isn’t entirely sure what response he wants from him, but frankly he’s too tired to care so he just closes his eyes and waits. Waits for the next beating, or knife wound, or rape.</p><p>“Get up Malcolm. On your knees.”</p><p>Malcolm doesn’t move.</p><p>“You will atone for your sins. And then you will receive water to wash you clean.”</p><p>At the mention of water, Malcolm opens his eyes again and tries to lick his parched lips. His tongue feels thick and dry and having water in such close proximity when he is quite literally dying of thirst may just be the worst torture that John has devised.</p><p>Part of him wants to continue to lay there, to go out on his own terms. But a bigger part wants to survive, wants that water, so he slowly pushes himself up, stopping to close his eyes against the dizziness that threatens to send him sprawling to the ground once again. It takes a moment to get his body upright, hands splayed on the bloody ground beneath him, and a moment more to push himself to his knees.</p><p>When he finally looks up, it’s to see John sitting in the chair, elbows resting on his legs with his hands hanging loose between his knees.</p><p>“If you want this water, Malcolm, you need to earn it. You need to express remorse for your sins and beg forgiveness.” John has that slightly crazed look flashing in his eye that always seems to bode poorly for Malcolm. “Take off your shirt.”</p><p>"Wha—" Malcolm tries to ask what John is planning to do to him, but his throat is so dry it's like he's choking on sand. He coughs against the scrape, bending his body in half as the movement jars his various injuries.</p><p>John scowls at him, seeming somehow disappointed, but grabs the bottle of water from next to his feet, cracks the seal and removes the lid. He debates for a moment, twirling the cap between his thumb and finger before flipping it over and filling it with water from the bottle. "Open wide," he murmurs as he stalks towards Malcolm.</p><p>Malcolm's hands pull into tight fists as the man approaches, but he does as asked and opens his mouth, angling his head back and hoping that John actually plans on giving him water. The tiny trickle into his mouth barely even makes it to his throat, absorbed by the parched tissues in his mouth. "You can thank me for that later," John smirks. Unfortunately, Malcolm knows exactly what he has in mind.</p><p>The water—water that Malcolm will be paying for dearly soon enough—is barely enough to let him talk without it feeling like sandpaper scraping his throat raw. "What are you going to do to me?" Malcolm rasps.</p><p>"Me?" John responds, moving back to his chair and recapping the bottle before taking up the whip again, leaving it dangling from his fingers. "No, no, no. I'm not going to do anything," he scoffs, turning to face Malcolm. Even in his confused and foggy state, Malcolm understands immediately.</p><p>"Self-flagellation? What makes you think I'm willing to play your game?" He barely has the energy to get through the question, words trailing off to a whisper by the end. He doesn't want to make things harder on himself, but there is no way in hell that he's going to whip himself.</p><p>"Because, little Malcolm, you're a fighter. And you are destined to survive these trials. But you can't survive without water." John states it matter-of-factly.</p><p>And Malcolm can't deny that he's right. He is going to die if he doesn't get water soon, and as much as he's been praying for it to be over in the last two days or so, he can't just give up and let it happen.</p><p>John waits quietly while Malcolm weighs his options and comes to a decision. It takes close to 15 minutes before Malcolm gives in, his shoulders slumping with a sigh, and he hears John's sharp intake of breath. When he looks up and nods at John, John smiles down at him, proud. It makes Malcolm want to vomit.</p><p>John rises to his feet to grab a pair of scissors from his bag, Malcolm tensing in fear as the man approaches. He moves behind Malcolm and begins to cut from the collar of his shirt down to the hem, the metal scraping the skin along his spine, sending a shiver through Malcolm's body. When he finishes cutting, the shirt slides down Malcolm's arms to puddle around his wrists.</p><p>"Right now, you're going to atone for your betrayal," John says, crouching down in front of Malcolm. Malcolm's exhausted look of confusion is enough to spur him on. "You betrayed your father. So I think, for now, we'll begin with 30 lashes."</p><p>Malcolm drops his head with a heavy exhale and can't help the small chuckle. How uninspired. Judas sold out Jesus for 30 pieces of silver, now Malcolm will receive 30 lashes for selling out his father.</p><p>John uses the handle of the whip to tilt Malcolm's head up and Malcolm sees the burning rage in his eyes, regretting the laugh immediately.</p><p>"I'm sorry," his breath catches in his chest. "I meant no disrespect." He tries to placate the man before things can get worse, his hand breaking into a fine tremor as he awaits his judgement. He knows John can make this much worse for him, even take away the promise of water, and that would mean death. It's a tense few minutes, Malcolm's breaths becoming faster and faster, until John finally lowers the whip from Malcolm's chin and Malcolm can finally take a deep breath.</p><p>He's not expecting it when John wraps his fingers around Malcolm's right hand and yanks it up, causing his left hand to pull down hard to the floor. John is by no means gentle as he pries Malcolm's fingers open from the fist his hand has curled into and Malcolm instinctively tries to pull away, earning himself a heavy backhanded blow to his face that nearly knocks him over. He lets out a cry, which John completely ignores as he slips the handle of the whip into Malcolm's hand, forcing Malcolm's fingers around it before closing his own fingers over his fist.</p><p>"I'm offering you a chance to atone, Malcolm. You should be grateful." John squeezes his grip around Malcolm's hand, slowly getting tighter and tighter until Malcolm realizes what he wants as he feels the bones in his fingers start to grind.</p><p>"Thank you, John" he grunts through gritted teeth.</p><p>The grip around his hand is suddenly released and John slowly makes his way over to the chair. He sits down and gets himself comfortable, right ankle crossing over left knee, as he prepares for the show.</p><p>Malcolm does some quick math in his head. Unfortunately, with the angle of his hands where they're chained to the ground, there is no way for him to build up enough force to use the whip as an effective weapon against John. If he keeps his left hand at the floor, though, it definitely gives him enough range to use his right hand to swing the whip so it will curl over his shoulder and strike his back.</p><p>Staring longingly at the bottle of water, Malcolm clenches his jaw and swings the whip. The tail falls across the left side of his back, stinging a little, but causing no damage. He hates himself for it, but he looks to John for approval.</p><p>"The first five can be a warm up so you can really get the feel of the whip. After that, I expect you to mean it." John leans forward slightly in his chair with a gleam in his eye as he adds, "I want you to count as you go, Malcolm, and with every lash you will say 'forgive me Father for my betrayal'. Do you understand?"</p><p>Malcolm has never hated someone so much in his life as he bites out, "One. Forgive me father for my betrayal."</p><p>"Good. Keep going."</p><p>Malcolm takes a breath and swings the whip again, taking advantage of the permission to have five lighter strikes. "Two. Forgive me father for my betrayal." Malcolm isn't entirely sure if the father he's asking for forgiveness is meant to be God or Martin, but it doesn't really matter as he takes the next swing. "Three. Forgive me father for my betrayal."</p><p>Four and five are much the same. It's a mild stinging that he can almost ignore, except it's enough to cause adrenaline to pump through his body which helps to clear his head and give him the strength to press on. He's not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.</p><p>He pauses before the sixth lash, knowing he needs to start hitting harder. With a deep breath in, he leans his head to the left to avoid accidentally hitting his face as he drops his hand a little lower before bringing it up with a jerk, the tail of the whip whizzing past his ear before it lands hard on his shoulder blade. He cries out as the pain blooms over his skin and he's suddenly not sure he's going to make it to 30.</p><p>"Six. Forgive me father for my betrayal," he pants as he tries to regain his composure.</p><p>"You can do better than that."</p><p>Malcolm resists the urge to snarl at the man, instead whipping himself three more times in quick succession, pausing only to ask for forgiveness in between.</p><p>"Harder."</p><p>The tenth swing is the first to break the skin and he screams as it lands, licking a trail of fire across his skin. It takes a moment to catch his breath before he can say, "Ten. Forgive me father for my betrayal."</p><p>John is openly smiling now, and Malcolm realizes that killing Shannon with his own hand must have uncovered some of John's latent sadistic tendencies. This is no longer the man who crushed his victims in a compactor from a distance; the man in front of him is enjoying Malcolm's pain.</p><p>Malcolm decides then and there to do what he can to hold back his screams, to take away John's pleasure. Lashes 11-16 are handled with gritted teeth and nothing more than a grunt, even as he feels the blood dripping down his back, but he notices John's smile fade with each of the hits.</p><p>"Harder!"</p><p>By 20, no matter how hard he tries, he can't hold back the screams any longer. Although he's ignored John's demand to hit harder, the lashes are crossing each other on his back, compounding the pain and making it impossible not to shout as they land.</p><p>"Twenty-one. Forgive me father for my betrayal." He feels the hot tears streaming down his face but is powerless to stop them. His back is on fire and he still has nine lashes left. "I c-can't," he cries, slumping to rest his forearms on his knees but quickly straightening up when rounding his back only serves to stretch the gashes.</p><p>"You can, Malcolm, and you will. I survived my trials, you can survive yours," John encourages, clasping his hands together in a parody of prayer. "And you will emerge anew."</p><p>There isn't a choice, really, and Malcolm knows it. If he doesn't keep going, he dies. He thinks about what that would do to his mother and Ainsley. How the last thing they need is another trauma in their lives. It's been 20 years since The Surgeon was arrested and Jessica was still self-medicating with a heavy mixture of pills and booze, he can only imagine what would happen if Malcolm was murdered by an associate of the man she married. Ainsley… well Ainsley would have another excuse to throw herself into her work, reporting rather than living.</p><p>Twenty-two and twenty-three. "Forgive me father for my betrayal." He's openly sobbing now, the pain ripping through his skin and sinking into his muscles.</p><p>He thinks of how guilty Gil will feel if Malcolm doesn't make it out alive. Malcolm doesn't blame him for it, but Gil brought Malcolm into this and he knows the man will never forgive himself if Malcolm dies. And with Jackie's loss still so fresh, Malcolm can't make him go through that again.</p><p>Another lash. Another scream torn from deep within. "Twenty-four." He's struggling to catch his breath. "Forgive me Father for my betrayal."</p><p>He thinks of the budding friendships he's started forming with JT and Dani, and even Edrisa. Friendships like nothing he's ever had before, and he's just learning to navigate the new terrain. He wants to be around to see what comes next. What true friendship means.</p><p>He manages two more strikes before his body collapses, unable to even count twenty-five and twenty-six. He lands half on his side, half on his stomach with his hands pinned beneath him and he sobs so hard that he feels like he's suffocating. His back is hot and wet and the pain is unbearable and he doesn't have the strength or courage to land four more blows.</p><p>He doesn't hear John approach, but he catches sight of the man's boots through the blur of his tears and feels the handle of the whip slide from his fingers as John pulls it from his shaking grasp. It's not just his hands shaking anymore, though, it's his entire body. A tremor that's vibrating through every cell, in his blood and in his bones and all the spaces in-between.</p><p>"I'm not an unreasonable man, Malcolm," John says above him while Malcolm tries to curl into himself and stop the shaking. "You came so close. You must really want to survive."</p><p>He hears John moving around him but keeps his eyes closed tight against the pain that's pulsing over his back.</p><p>"I want you to have it, too." John's voice sounds muffled and he knows he's close to losing consciousness. "So, I'll offer my help, just this one time."</p><p>Four lashes rain down hot, heavy and in quick succession on Malcolm's raw back, the angle of the blows crossing sideways over almost every one of the lashes Malcolm's already made.</p><p>Malcolm screams until his throat gives out.</p><p>He can't move, can't think, can't breathe. His entire world is narrowed down to an unceasing pain. All that he has, all that he is—a white hot hurt like he’s never experienced before.</p><p>He’s gasping when John kneels down beside him, water bottle in hand. “Let’s get you sitting up,” he says quietly, placing the bottle down before grabbing Malcolm’s upper arm and hauling him upright, unaffected by the whimpering coming from the man he’s so roughly manhandling. John has to keep one arm gripped on Malcolm’s arm to keep him from tipping right back over, using the other hand to bring the bottle to Malcolm’s lips.</p><p>He tilts the bottle to pour some water into Malcolm’s mouth, but the stuttered and gasping breaths that Malcolm is sucking in make him choke on the water, spluttering and spilling it down his chin.</p><p>“Uh, uh, uh. Waste not, want not. Try again.” John gives Malcolm a second to catch his breath before trying once more. This time Malcolm is able to swallow down several gulps of water before John pulls it away once again, Malcolm’s mouth chasing after the cool liquid as it’s taken away from him.</p><p>“Manners, Malcolm. What do you say?”</p><p>Malcolm just wants to curl up in a ball and cease to exist, but he forces himself to croak out, “Thank you, John.”</p><p>John smiles and brings the bottle back to his lips, letting him drink a couple more gulps before pulling the bottle back once again.</p><p>“Thank you, John.” Malcolm feels his consciousness slipping away but fights to stay awake long enough to finish the bottle, stopping to thank John three more times.</p><p>When the bottle is empty, John pulls away and takes it back to his chair, leaving Malcolm unsupported and left to collapse once more to the hard floor.</p><p>“That’s it, little Malcolm, go to sleep,” John growls.</p><p>The last thing Malcolm hears before his world goes black is the sharp hiss of John’s pants being unzipped.</p><p>---</p><p>Gil sits next to Malcolm, observing the empty look on the profiler’s face as he stares at the bottle of water while a handful of tears silently escape his eyes. He takes the plate off of Malcolm's lap and moves it to the table.</p><p>"Bright?" Gil wants nothing more than to reach out, but he knows he can’t. Instead, he grabs the bottle off the table, the movement pulling Malcolm from his thoughts and chasing away the vacant look that has become so common lately. He holds it out to the profiler and when the man makes no move to take it asks, “You thirsty? The doctors said you need to keep your fluids up.”</p><p>Malcolm blinks at him for a moment before tentatively reaching out for the bottle and then stopping before his fingers make contact, his breath hitching as his hand stills beside it.</p><p>“Hey, whatever it is, it might help if you talk about it. Saying it out loud takes away some of its power,” Gil tries. He watches as Malcolm licks his lips, his eyes glued to the bottle, hand still hovering just out of reach.</p><p>“He, um, he made me whip myself. To get water.” It’s quiet, but frankly, it’s far more than he was expecting Malcolm to say. The kid’s been pretty tight-lipped about specifics, but Gil saw the photos from the hospital and recognized the profusion of marks on his back as whip lashes. He’d assumed that John had been the one to wield the instrument and feels ill when he hears that John made Malcolm do it to himself.</p><p>“He said it was penance for turning my father in to the police.” Malcolm doesn’t even look like he’s aware that he’s talking, lost in the reflection of the window on the water bottle. “Thirty lashes for a bottle of water.”</p><p>Gil holds back his anger as he nudges the water forward, brushing it against Malcolm’s fingers. “That’s over now, Malcolm, you're safe here. You can have all the water you want." The queasy feeling that's invaded Gil's stomach gets worse saying those words. <em>Having</em> to say those words.</p><p>The corner of Malcolm's mouth twitches up, a sort of embarrassed grimace.</p><p>"Logically I know that. My rational mind is aware that what happened there isn't going to happen again. Knows that it's over." Malcolm sighs and brings his fingers to the neck of the bottle, not taking it, just wrapping his hand lightly around it, barely touching. "But there's a part of me that can't quite seem to fully comprehend that." He pulls his hand back and settles it onto his lap.</p><p>Gil doesn't push. Trauma can take many forms; he's learned as much in his decades-long tenure with the NYPD so he knows that telling Bright to just try to drink isn't going to help matters at all. "What can I do to help?" he asks instead.</p><p>"Honestly?" Bright shrugs and drops his head into his hand, "I have no idea."</p><p>Although Gil is thoroughly disgusted by what he's just heard, he's also indescribably proud of Bright for being so open about what happened. The kid spoke more in the last 5 minutes than he had in his week at the hospital. He's starting to think maybe it actually was a good idea to bring Malcolm home. If he's feeling comfortable enough now to start talking, they must be moving in the right direction.</p><p>"What if I pour it in a glass?" Gil asks after a moment, hoping that it might be enough of a difference to make it so Malcolm doesn't associate it with John.</p><p>Malcolm peeks his head up from his hand and raises an eyebrow. "Maybe?"</p><p>Anything that might help Malcolm is worth a shot, as far as Gil is concerned. He gets to his feet and heads to the kitchen, pulling one of the cut glass tumblers from the cupboard and setting it on the countertop. He pours the glass about three quarters full and then decides to throw in some ice from the freezer as well. Anything that makes it less like the water that John gave him.</p><p>He leaves the bottle sitting on the counter and brings the glass back with him to the living room, lowering himself to sit next to Malcolm. Gil hands the glass over, ice tinkling against the sides as it traverses the space between them. He holds it steady while Malcolm reaches out and wraps his hand around the glass, licking his parched lips as he aims to keep the glass from shaking in his grip. Gil waits until he's sure Malcolm has a firm grasp on it before he lets go, letting Malcolm hold the glass on his own and move at his own pace. It's painful to watch how slowly Malcolm moves to bring the glass to his mouth, but it gets there in the end.</p><p>Gil feels the knot in his stomach loosen just a little as Malcolm drinks the water, his adam's apple bobbing as he moves from slow sips to hasty gulps, drinking the entire glass of water in one breath. The relief lasts about four seconds, until Malcolm pulls the glass away and says, "Thank you, John."</p><p>Both men freeze. Gil clenches his hands into tight fists, his rage boiling into something nearly uncontrollable. Nearly. And then he notices a mortified blush spread over Malcolm's face, creeping up his cheeks and down his neck as he realizes what he said, tears springing to his eyes. Gil's anger fades into nothingness at a startling speed.</p><p>"Hey. Hey, kid. It's okay." Gil scoots himself closer in towards Malcolm but makes sure that no part of their bodies are touching. He gently takes the glass from Malcolm's hand and sets it on the table next to the untouched food before he turns back. Malcolm's got his face buried in his uninjured hand once again, but Gil needs him to know that he's not alone. "Malcolm, can I touch you? Just a hand on your shoulder?" he's quick to clarify.</p><p>Malcolm's breath catches but Gil sees the small nod and gently puts his hand on Malcolm's neck, feeling the muscles there tighten before they relax and Malcolm lets out a shuddering breath. Gil is on high alert as Malcolm leans into his chest, but the contact seems to help calm him down, rather than trigger unwanted memories, his overtaxed body finally releasing some of the tension he's been carrying since he woke up in the hospital.</p><p>“You’re going to get through this, Malcolm,” Gil says, conviction ringing strong in the quiet words as he tries to make Malcolm understand just how much he means it. “There is nothing for you to be embarrassed or ashamed about, okay? And I'm going to be here with you every step of the way. Whatever you need.”</p><p>They stay like that, Malcolm curled into Gil’s side as he takes comfort in the older man’s presence for a long while, the path of the sunlight through the windows slowly gliding across the floor, and Gil hopes that maybe Malcolm can fall asleep like this. No sooner does the thought cross his mind than it's dashed by the grating buzz of the door which sends Malcolm jerking up from his peaceful repose with fear in his eyes.</p><p>“It’s fine,” Gil reassures him. "It’s probably Adolpho with the groceries.” He waits a moment to see if Malcolm needs anything from him, but Malcolm seems to be pulling himself together, so he pushes himself to his feet and heads to the door.</p><p>Between Gil and Adolpho, the groceries and Gil’s bags are carted up from the car with a minimum of fuss. Adolpho glances towards the living room with a look of concern as he helps Gil with the last of the bags, but he keeps his thoughts to himself and turns to leave with a nod to Gil. Gil shows him to the door and thanks him for taking the time to pick everything up and deliver it. He’s aware that Jessica is paying him well to run these errands, but he also knows that Adolpho has been with the Whitlys for a long time and truly cares about the family.</p><p>“He’s going to be okay,” Gil says, stepping just outside the door. “You can tell Jessica I’ll look after him.”</p><p>“I’m sure you will Mr. Arroyo,” Adolpho says, then, following a brief pause, “If I can be of any service, please let me know.”</p><p>A quick handshake sees Adolpho off and Gil makes his way back inside to unload the groceries. Adolpho had picked up bags full of fresh produce and freshly baked goods, staples like rice and eggs, a small amount of white meat (knowing, as they all did, that Malcolm had trouble with the red), and various other items to make their confinement more comfortable. In the very last bag, Gil discovers a treasure trove of candy, including all of Malcolm's favourites, and he smiles as he places the many bags and boxes of sweet treats in the cupboard. Quite frankly, at this point, Gil would be happy to see Malcolm eat the entirety of it in one go if it meant he was eating anything at all.</p><p>He takes one pack of red licorice with him into the living room and joins Bright on the sofa once again, placing the treat between them on the couch in case it might tempt the younger man as the day goes on. The plate of reheated chicken and rice is still sitting untouched on the table and Gil resigns himself to the coming days of untouched meals, as much as the thought bothers him.</p><p>"So. Now what?" Gil asks casually, hoping that Malcolm can provide some insight as to what might help him to feel more at home in his own house.</p><p>Gil gives Malcolm some time to think about it, watching as Malcolm takes a breath and flexes his good hand against his thigh then rubs it briskly up and down his leg. "I, uh. I don't really know. I'm not entirely sure what I'm supposed to do now, Gil." Malcolm casts a sidelong glance at Gil, looking slightly embarrassed at the admission.</p><p>After everything Bright's been through, Gil figures the kid could use something light. A distraction. "Well. We have snacks and you have that absurdly large TV. How about a movie?" He keeps his voice casual, the way he would if this was just another normal night. Any night that wasn't Bright's first night home after being raped and tortured for days and then kept in a hospital for a week.</p><p>Of course Malcolm notices exactly what Gil's doing, but that doesn't stop him from casting a tentative almost-smile towards the older man and Gil's heart soars at the sight.</p><p>Baby steps.</p><p>They spend the evening watching movies, keeping the selections as light as possible. Gil misses the majority of the plot on all of them, keeping his senses finely attuned to Bright, making sure that nothing becomes too much for him. They're halfway through a buddy cop movie when Malcolm's eyes start fluttering closed only to be immediately blinked open again as he obviously fights the pull of sleep. Gil knows he'll never agree to go to bed, but hopes that maybe he can get him to doze off for a while, even if it's just on the sofa. He moves the pack of unopened licorice over and slides himself closer to Malcolm, keeping his eyes on the movie but clocking Malcolm's surprised expression from the corner of his eye.</p><p>He stretches his arm out on the backrest, resting it lengthwise behind Malcolm though not actually touching him, but then can't help the chuckle that escapes from deep within his belly.</p><p>Malcolm looks over at him, tilting his head in question but with a small smile lifting his lips.</p><p>"Sorry, I just had a flashback to when I was 14 and at the movie theater with Tami Miller. I promise I'm not trying to get fresh with you, kid."</p><p>Malcolm's responding snicker is a soothing balm to Gil's anxiety-laden nerves.</p><p>"I just thought that you seemed to relax before," Gil explains with a smile. "If it helps you to feel safe, I'm here. No pressure. Just an offer."</p><p>Malcolm takes a moment to think it over but soon maneuvers himself to carefully lean up against Gil, resting his head on the older man's shoulder. They both turn back to the movie, but Gil's attention is now completely focused on Malcolm. On the way his breathing slowly levels off, the way his body gradually relaxes and sinks a little heavier into Gil's side, the way his balled up hand finally loosens where it rests in his lap.</p><p>Gil thinks he would be content to sit like this all night if it helps Malcolm feel safe enough to sleep.</p><p>Unfortunately, it's only a little over an hour into the next movie that the nightmares begin.</p><p>---</p><p>
  <strong>49 hours</strong>
</p><p>John lifts the side of his shirt, showing an old wound, a jagged white scar that's puckered and had obviously been inexpertly stitched. Malcolm doesn't understand at first. Doesn't know why John is showing him this at all.</p><p>But then he's flooded by memories. Remembers the warm smell of cedar and heat from the fire crackling off to the side, remembers the fear and adrenaline that were coursing through his body as his fight-or-flight instincts kicked in. Remembers the feel of the knife breaking through John's skin and sinking in deeper. Remembers the sound it made as he pulled it out, gripping it tight as he ran towards the door.</p><p>He's pulled from the onslaught of memories by John's rumbling voice.</p><p>"You stabbed me and left me for dead. I lived. Will you?"</p><p>For a fraction of a second, it's more surprise than pain. The knife must have been meticulously sharpened to sink into his body so easily and Malcolm has a fleeting thought of John lovingly running the blade over a whetstone until it's razor-sharp and deadly. The thought is lost as the pain finally sears through his body, white hot and pulsing. His breath catches in his lungs and his mouth jaw drops as he prepares to scream but then John <em>twists</em> the knife and yanks it out and Malcolm loses the ability to make a sound as his body tries to process the trauma.</p><p>He can't seem to manage to inhale as his body automatically curls in protectively around the wound, leaving him helpless and shaking and locked in a fetal position on the floor.</p><p>His eyes are tightly closed against the waves of pain that are coursing through him, but he hears John wiping the blood from the knife on his pants, hears the rustle of his clothes as he gets to his feet, hears his heavy footsteps as he makes his way to the door.</p><p>"Try not to die, Malcolm, I still have so many plans for our time together." John's voice is fuzzy and distant as it filters through the shroud of agony that has consumed Malcolm.</p><p>Shortly after the door closes behind John, Malcolm manages a gasping breath, the sudden expansion of his chest sending a fresh wave of pain through the knife wound and he finally releases the scream that had been trapped in his lungs. It feels like there's something clawing and biting and shredding its way through his side and he wants nothing more than for unconsciousness to claim him, but it seems as though it's just another in a long list of things that he's being denied.</p><p>He slows his breath to shallow pants to keep the movement from jarring his side as much as possible, but every breath feels like it's tearing open the wound afresh. Every inhale makes him relive the knife sinking in again and again and again. It's a neverending torture and there's nothing he can do to ease the pain. The tears that streak his face are equal parts pain and helplessness.</p><p>---</p><p>Malcolm lurches to his feet as the scream rips past his lips. He stumbles over his feet in his blind panic and ends up tripping over the chair next to the coffee table, falling hard to the floor before scurrying back against the brick wall beneath the window.</p><p>The gasping breaths he's just barely managing are tugging on his stitches in a way that makes him feel like he's still trapped in that room, still restrained and bleeding and dying. He can feel that his arm is trapped against his chest and no matter how hard he pulls he can't get away. He needs to get out of the restraints. He uses his free hand to claw at the binding, ignoring the blinding pain in his shoulder as he yanks, but suddenly someone is pulling his hand away. He struggles even more, swinging wildly and kicking out as he fights against his captor. The grapple is causing a deep ache in his shoulder and a sharp stinging in his side, but he can't stop, he has to get away.</p><p>"Bright! Bright, please! It's not real."</p><p>Gil's voice filters in over the panic in his mind, and though he doesn't stop trying to get away, the struggle becomes less intense. If Gil's nearby, Malcolm knows that help is coming, he just needs to hold on.</p><p>"Bright, it's just a nightmare. You're safe now. Can you open your eyes?"</p><p>He wasn't aware that his eyes were closed. He opens his eyes and completely deflates, the fight leaving his body in a matter of seconds. Gil is kneeling over him and has Malcolm's left arm pinned tightly against his stomach, his hand gripping firmly above the cast on his hand, clearly trying to keep him from moving it at all. Malcolm's right hand is pinned against the brick wall over his head, but what catches his attention more than any of that, more than the searing pain in his shoulder and side, is the split lip that Gil's sporting, a small amount of blood slowly trickling down his chin.</p><p>"Gil," Malcolm whispers when he's finally able to catch his breath. Gil's chest is heaving as he works to catch his own breath, but there's nothing but concern written across his face, pulling his eyebrows down and tightening his lips.</p><p>"You awake?" Gil asks as his eyes dart back and forth over Malcolm's face.</p><p>Malcolm nods and Gil releases his right hand, but only lessens his hold on his left. As the adrenaline begins to fade, Malcolm becomes aware of just how much he hurts, almost as bad as when he first woke up in the hospital. He whimpers as he drops his arm to his side and Gil brings a hand to his shoulder, the concern on the Lieutenant's face shifting into fear at the sound.</p><p>"How bad are you hurt?"</p><p>Malcolm takes a moment to take stock of his body. There's an ache running bone deep throughout his entire body. He's fairly certain that he's pulled the stitches in the stab wound on his side, and definitely aggravated the healing cuts on his back. His biggest concern, though, is his shoulder. It's possible that he may have dislocated it once again.</p><p>"I'm fine," he says, but at Gil's exasperated look adds, "mostly. Did I hurt you?" Malcolm finally shakes off the last vestiges of the nightmare—memory—as he waits for Gil's response.</p><p>Gil leans back, finally releasing his grip on Malcolm and scrubbing a hand over his goatee. He pulls it back with a hiss when he hits his lower lip and looks down to see the blood on his fingers while his tongue gently probes the cut.</p><p>"Don't worry about me, kid, I'll be fine. Do I need to call an ambulance?"</p><p>"No," Malcolm is quick to answer. "My shoulder might be a bit of a problem, but I think I'll wait and see in the morning."</p><p>Gil's eyes rake over Malcolm's form and land on his side and whatever he sees causes him to shift around to get a better look beneath the sling. After a second, he leans back with a sigh. "I think you pulled your stitches. You're bleeding through your shirt."</p><p>Malcolm angles his head to the left and looks down at his side. Sure enough, there's a dark spot on his grey t-shirt that looks to be blood.</p><p>"Look, I'm sure it's fine. Can you help me up?" Malcolm begins to shift himself around trying to get his legs beneath him. He groans as the movement jostles his shoulder but then Gil is helping him up, supporting him as he slowly gets to his feet.</p><p>It's not until they're halfway to the bathroom that Malcolm realizes that he didn't flinch at Gil's touch. He files that away for later celebration as he leans on Gil the rest of the way there. He allows Gil to help him out of his sling but pauses in front of the mirror with his hand on the hem of his shirt.</p><p>Part of it is that he doesn't want Gil to see his injuries. He knows the Lieutenant likely saw photos, but seeing it in the flesh is entirely different. It would kill him for Gil to see him as a victim every time he looks at him.</p><p>The other part is that <em>he</em> hasn't seen what he looks like yet. In the hospital, every time they came to change his dressings, he would close his eyes and try not to think about anything at all. It's bad enough he has to remember everything he went through, but actually seeing the physical reminders is somehow more real. And he's not entirely sure he's ready for that.</p><p>"Take a breath, Malcolm." Gil's voice is quiet and he looks up to find the man's reflection in the mirror. He hadn't realized his breathing had sped up again, but he does as Gil suggests and takes a deep breath, calming himself down. He keeps his eyes on Gil's reflection and sees only kindness and concern on his face. The same expression he's always seen on Gil's face throughout the years. He realizes in that moment that part of his worries are entirely unfounded; Gil would never look at him like a victim.</p><p>"Do you want me to leave? I can wait outside, you can call me if you need me."</p><p>Malcolm takes a breath and shakes his head. "No. I just haven't seen any of the injuries yet. But I could use your help if you don't mind."</p><p>"Of course," Gil answers immediately. "Though, if you're not ready to see things yet, I can check you over and make sure nothing needs a trip to the hospital."</p><p>Gil's unwavering support makes the task just a little less terrifying. His silent strength somehow makes Malcolm himself feel stronger. With a terse nod to himself in the mirror, he starts to pull his shirt up only to realize that he can't actually remove it on his own. Malcolm's frustrated sigh is quickly followed by Gil’s hands helping to ease the t-shirt over his head. It’s awkward and uncomfortable and involves a small amount of contortion in order to not move his left arm at all, but soon the shirt is removed and Malcolm gets his first look at his new body.</p><p>Most of his skin is mottled in sickly yellow and green bruises and he can only imagine what he must have looked like when he was found. John had been quick to punish any transgressions, which usually meant a swift kick to the nearest available body part. Looking at the bruises now, Malcolm can feel the phantom ache of John's heavy boot pounding against his body and he blows out a sharp breath to dispel the sensation. His shoulder is still a little darker, the blues and purples having yet to fade around the damaged area. He brings his right hand up to lightly probe his shoulder, wincing at how sore it is to the touch but hoping that if something was wrong, he’d be able to feel it. When he’s not met with any obvious issues, he drops his hand and lowers his eyes to the stab wound on his side.</p><p>He aims to keep the observations clinical, detached. The flesh is angry and red, clearly aggravated by his earlier thrashing during his nightmare. Thankfully, there doesn’t seem to be too much blood, only a small amount seeping from the wound between the stitches, which still seem to be holding. Malcolm breathes a sigh of relief at that, knowing that he can put off making a trip to the hospital, at least for a while.</p><p>The detached observations only work so long, though, and soon he’s fighting off flashes of the knife driving into him, the vulgar smile on John’s face as he twists it, the squishy feeling as he used a strip of his shirt to staunch the flow of blood.</p><p>Malcolm grips onto the bathroom vanity with his right hand and drops his head as he tries to breathe through the memories that are assaulting him. He's struggling to calm himself down when he feels Gil’s hand cup the back of his neck, fingers gently stroking his hairline and it’s like the weight that was crushing his chest is removed and he can finally breathe again.</p><p>He lifts his head and locks eyes with Gil’s reflection in the mirror and Malcolm can see that the man is trying to mask his anger again. He’s been doing it since Malcolm woke up in the hospital, and he knows that Gil is trying to protect him, like he always has. For the first time in over a week, fear and panic are overtaken by something good: gratitude and love. Gil’s been like a father to him for the last 20 years and Malcolm has always appreciated that, but today especially, he is so goddamn thankful to have Gil in his life. He’s not sure he could get through this without him.</p><p>"I'm okay," he says, straightening up and shooting Gil a small smile. And he thinks that it might not even be a lie.</p><p>Even so, he doesn't think he's ready to see the mess of scars and bruises on his back just yet. He's checked over the wounds that were a cause for concern, that's enough for now.</p><p>"Would you mind grabbing the first aid kit and a new shirt?" Malcolm asks, voice steadier than he expected.</p><p>Gil gives a gentle squeeze to his neck before he turns and leaves the bathroom, and Malcolm takes advantage of the alone time to relieve himself and splash some water on his face. He can hear Gil's anxious shuffling just outside the door as he pats himself dry and knows that the man is fighting the urge to barge in and make sure that Malcolm is alright. It fills Malcolm with a warmth that he's been missing for too long, not just that Gil is worried about him, but that he's trusting Malcolm enough to give him some space, even when he'd clearly rather not.</p><p>"You can come in," Malcolm calls out, muffled through the towel over his face.</p><p>Gil looks a little guilty as he comes in, caught lurking outside the bathroom door. Malcolm smirks at the expression which causes Gil to huff out a laugh as he sets the first aid kit on the countertop. It only takes a few minutes to clean the blood from his side, maneuver him into a clean shirt and replace the sling and then Gil is supporting Malcolm with a hand around his arm as they head back to the sofa.</p><p>"Do you think you might want to try eating something?" Gil asks as he helps Malcolm settle on the sofa. It's nearly 2:30 in the morning, but Malcolm hasn't eaten anything the entire day and he can tell that it's bothering Gil, even if he's doing an admirable job of masking his concern.</p><p>Malcolm has to gauge how well he's feeling before he can decide whether or not he thinks he can handle food. There's been a knot twisting and pulling in his stomach since John took him making it nearly impossible to even consider eating something, let alone keep it down. But being home and having Gil there to make him feel secure is finally causing that knot to loosen just a little. It's not a lot, but after a week and a half of feeling nothing but a snarl of anxiety writhing deep inside of him, it's a welcome feeling.</p><p>"I could maybe handle some soup?" He doesn't mean for it to sound like a question, but somehow it does. Gil doesn't seem to mind though, his face lighting up as he heads to the kitchen to grab a can of soup and a saucepan. Malcolm watches with his lips twitching up at the corners as Gil bustles around the kitchen, finding a sleeve of soda crackers to go along with the soup and getting two bowls and spoons to set beside the stove.</p><p>Malcolm very carefully levers himself to his feet while Gil is busy pouring glasses of ice water and makes his way over to the breakfast bar, easing himself onto one of the stools. When Gil turns back and sees Malcolm sitting on the stool, his face performs a strange contortion between worry and joy before he focuses back on the soup, ladling out portions into the two bowls and passing them over to the breakfast bar, along with the water, crackers, and spoons. He moves the saucepan off the stove before heading over to seat himself next to Malcolm.</p><p>"Thank you, Gil," Malcolm says earnestly, and they both know he's not just referring to the soup.</p><p>Gil just smiles at him and both men tuck into the meal. Gil finishes his portion quite quickly, even with having to eat carefully around his split lip, while Malcolm only manages maybe a dozen spoonfuls, but it's a good start that both men are quite pleased about.</p><p>Malcolm feels a pang of guilt as Gil goes about tidying up the kitchen, washing the dishes and wiping down the countertops, but Gil looks so pleased to have done something useful that Malcolm vows to himself to try harder when it comes to nourishing his body.</p><p>When the last of the dishes have been put away, Gil turns towards Malcolm to ask, "Do you think you could maybe try to sleep?"</p><p>Malcolm is about to say no when he notices Gil stifle a yawn behind his hand and he realizes that keeping himself awake also means keeping Gil awake. He knows Gil will force himself to stay awake to keep an eye on Malcolm.</p><p>It's not that he doesn't want to sleep, it's just that every time he dozes off, he's assaulted with memories of his time with John. He thinks that maybe he might be okay if he just stays awake, but his treacherous body keeps demanding sleep, only for his brain to deny it so vehemently. He knows he can't fight it forever, though, so he sighs and says, "I guess I could try."</p><p>Gil alternates between assisting Malcolm and giving him space as he readies himself for bed. By the time he finally lays back on the bed, he is ready to drop from exhaustion. His left arm is still safely confined in the sling, but Gil helps him to lock his right hand into his restraint. Malcolm can tell that Gil is hesitant about restraining him. The older man hated the idea of Malcolm being tied down before, but Malcolm sees that he absolutely despises it now, after Watkins had him chained to the floor for almost four days.</p><p>Once Malcolm is buckled in, Gil perches on the side of the bed. "I'm going to be just over there on the couch. You need anything, kid, anything at all, even if it's just some company, you give me a shout, okay?"</p><p>Malcolm knows he means it. Knows that he could call Gil over at 4:00 in the morning just to ask the man to sit beside him and he would. It's like a security blanket, in a way, and it helps him to relax further into the mattress. "Thanks, Gil."</p><p>Malcolm feels his eyelids getting heavier before Gil even rises from the side of his bed and, much to his surprise, he falls asleep before Gil has even pulled out the spare blankets and pillows and settled himself on the couch.</p><p>---</p><p>
  <strong>6 hours</strong>
</p><p>Malcolm is on his knees, casually sitting back on his bare feet as he tries to form a connection with John. Tries to make him understand that he knows about his past and sympathizes with him for the harsh treatment he received from his grandparents.</p><p>"You want to talk about the past? I had a good look at yours. The way your grandparents raised you. All the punishments. Fire and brimstone. The wardrobe where they kept you. I saw the scratches on the door. Nobody deserves that."</p><p>He needs John to think he empathizes with his situation, that Malcolm is on his side. If he can develop a rapport with the man, open a dialogue, then he might be able to talk his way out of this.</p><p>He realizes he's read the situation wrong as John's boot connects squarely with his solar plexus. It forces the air from his lungs in a harsh cough and leaves him doubled over on the floor, his head falling to the cold concrete as he struggles to suck in some air.</p><p>"I-I was a difficult child," John says, moving to Malcolm's side. "Difficult children need to be dealt with harshly, Malcolm. You should learn that."</p><p>Malcolm doesn't see John pull his foot back to strike again and is unprepared when the second kick comes to his side, knocking him over as he continues to suck in tiny bursts of air.</p><p>"What do you say when you've done something wrong, Malcolm?" John nudges the toe of his boot against Malcolm's arm.</p><p>"I'm sorry," he wheezes.</p><p>"You will be."</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>77 Hours</strong>
</p><p>"Lay down, Malcolm, I won't ask again." John growls, the heat of anger flushing his cheeks.</p><p>"Fuck you," Malcolm spits.</p><p>He's done.</p><p>He's tired of fighting. Tired of submitting. Tired of waiting for a rescue that seems increasingly unlikely by the hour. His entire body is singing with pain from days of rape and torture. He hasn't been able to sit or lay without being in absolute agony for at least a day. And discounting the time he spent unconscious, he hasn't slept since before John took him. It's been even longer since he's eaten.</p><p>The goal now is to make John as angry as possible. To end it. The man clearly has anger and control issues and Malcolm's profiler training has enabled him to know exactly which buttons not just to push, but to fucking pound on.</p><p>"Fuck you, you twisted fuck," Malcolm holds himself as straight as he can given his various injuries and the restraints keeping him chained to the floor. "You're not a saviour, John, you're an impenitent sinner. An abomination. The bible says 'You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination' and yet what are you doing? You're lying with another man."</p><p>John twitches as Malcolm speaks, eyes squeezing shut as his head jerks to the side and Malcolm recognizes that he's having flashbacks, likely to when he was abused as a child. "Don't…" John whispers.</p><p>"You torture and kill addicts and prostitutes because that's what your mother was. She was wicked, and so are you." Malcolm pours all of the vitriol he can manage into his words. He needs John to snap because if John doesn't kill him right now, he could be there for days, weeks even, before anyone finds him. And he can't handle the thought of that.</p><p>John steps up to Malcolm and grasps a handful of his hair, twisting it tightly and pulling at the roots to angle his head up. "My work is important," John states, and Malcolm can tell that he's well past furious.</p><p>Malcolm looks him in the eye and laughs. As loudly and as mockingly as he can. "You're deluded, John. You're unclean and unrighteous. The son of a whore and nothing more."</p><p>John yanks back on Malcolm's hair with his left hand, holding him firmly in place as he pulls back his right arm and punches Malcolm square in the jaw. It's powerful enough to leave him seeing stars, but he needs more. He twists his head in John's grasp and spits a mouthful of blood onto the floor, ready to continue his attack when John throws him forward. He lands hard on his stomach with the anchor ring down by his legs, the chain pulling his arms under him and effectively trapping his arms beneath him. John's knee comes down hard on his back and Malcolm screams at the pressure on his lash marks, but he has no leverage to try to throw the man off.</p><p>When John grabs a fistful of Malcolm's hair again, he braces himself so that when his face hits the floor it comes as no surprise. When it hits a second time and then a third, he prays that it will be over soon. He's dizzy and disoriented enough that when John's hand releases his hair and the man's weight leaves his back, he doesn't even think to move.</p><p>John's boots appear in his field of vision and he cranes his head up to see the man, shaking with rage and towering above him. He can tell he's so close.</p><p>"What will become of the Godless man and the sinner?" Malcolm asks around a mouthful of blood. "You're going to hell, John. And it's going to be dark and cramped and you'll be trapped there for all eternity." He's expecting the boot to come down on his head, to finish it once and for all.</p><p>Instead, John stomps down on his shoulder and Malcolm hears the pop of bone just before his screams echo off the walls.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>36 hours</strong>
</p><p>Malcolm comes to just as John is pulling out. He leaves him with his pants pulled down to his knees and Malcolm can't stop the sob that breaks free at the feeling of being violated while he was unconscious.</p><p>"Oh good. You're awake," John says conversationally while he does up his own pants, as if he didn't just rape Malcolm for the third time. He stares down at Malcolm expectantly.</p><p>Malcolm chokes on bile as he whispers, "Thank you, John."</p><p>John bends over and ruffles Malcolm's hair before he turns to leave, "You're welcome," left floating in the air behind him.</p><p>---</p><p>Gil's pulled from an uneasy sleep by Malcolm's shouting and he jumps to his feet, skidding to a stop next to Malcolm's bed before his eyes are even fully open. The kid is thrashing in his sleep and Gil figures it must be exacerbating his injuries. He drops down to sit beside Malcolm and reaches across him to place a hand on his right shoulder as he calls out, "Bright. Bright, it's just a dream."</p><p>He keeps the pressure on his shoulder gentle but firm as he keeps calling out, trying to wake him without making things worse. Much to his surprise, Malcolm actually settles back down and stays asleep. Small mercies. The kid must truly be exhausted if he's not waking up. Waiting an extra few minutes just to make sure that Malcolm is truly asleep, Gil keeps a comforting hand on Malcolm's shoulder and continues with his whispered assurances that Malcolm is safe and can relax.</p><p>When he's quite convinced that Malcolm is well and truly asleep, Gil heads back to the living room, grabs his phone from the coffee table and flops down on the sofa. It's 6:56 in the morning and he's sure he won't be able to fall back asleep. The sky outside is just beginning to lighten and it's around the time that he would be getting up for work anyways.</p><p>Settling himself comfortably on the sofa, Gil checks his emails and sends out a few of his own, then takes the time to compose a detailed text to Jessica and a less detailed text to Dani and JT, filling them in on Malcolm's recovery. He's pleased that he has good news to share, what with getting him to eat and sleep a bit.</p><p>It's not long after he sends the text to Dani and JT that his phone buzzes in his hand, JT's name popping up on the screen.</p><p>"JT," Gil says quietly, his voice raspy from disuse. "It's pretty early. Everything alright?"</p><p>"Look, I know you're not gonna wanna hear this, but the brass is pushing, and I thought it'd be better if you hear it from me" JT's voice is strained and Gil can tell he's royally pissed off about what he's about to say. Gil feels his own jaw clenching in preparation for whatever he's about to hear. "Watkins is offering victim names. Who he killed, when, and where the bodies are."</p><p>Gil's not stupid, he knows Watkins isn't offering out of the goodness of his heart. "What's the catch?"</p><p>JT pauses before he finally growls, "He'll only talk to Bright."</p><p>The wave of anger is so intense that Gil feels he might drown in it. "No fucking way," he says through gritted teeth after a moment, once he's no longer afraid that his blood pressure is high enough to pop a vein.</p><p>"That's what I said too, boss," JT agrees, "But the brass is pushing. This whole thing is a PR nightmare and they need a good spin to cover the fact that they didn't catch an active serial killer for over 20 years."</p><p>"I don't care what the public thinks, I'm not sending Bright in to face the man who tortured him!" As hard as he'd been trying to keep his voice down, he's practically shouting by the end and he needs to cycle a few deep breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth before he can bring himself back under control. "Tell the commissioner he can call me himself. This isn't happening."</p><p>Gil feels a tingling on the back of his neck, the little hairs that stand up when you're being watched, and closes his eyes with a sigh before turning around to find Malcolm staring at him from the bed.</p><p>"Shit," he breathes out, "JT, I need to call you back." Gil hangs up before JT has a chance to respond and takes a moment to berate himself for being so damn loud. He pushes himself to his feet with another sigh and heads over to the bed, where Malcolm is patiently waiting for Gil to release his restraint.</p><p>“I’m sorry I woke you.” Gil rounds the bed to quickly unlatch Malcolm’s restraint and remove the cuff for him.</p><p>“What did JT want?” Malcolm grunts as he tries to pull himself into a seated position. Gil moves to support him as best he can until Malcolm is propped up against the headboard, watching Gil and waiting for an answer.</p><p>“Doesn’t matter,” Gil says, trying to dismiss the entire conversation. “Think you’d be up for trying some breakfast? The fridge is pretty well stocked, I could make you eggs, pancakes, even just toast if that’s all you feel up for.”</p><p>Gil avoids making eye contact with Malcolm as he makes his way back around the bed and towards the kitchen, calling out over his shoulder as he walks, “Coffee? Or maybe tea would be better?”</p><p>He starts rummaging through the cupboards and fridge to gather the ingredients for any number of meals, preparing himself for whatever Bright may choose. His efforts are immediately halted as he hears a faint grunt from the direction of the bed. He drops the frying pan he’s holding on the counter and peeks around the corner to see Bright shifting his way to the edge of the bed and making to stand.</p><p>“Hey, you don’t need to get up,” Gil calls as he hurries back over to lend a hand. Malcolm doesn’t complain as Gil wraps his hand under Malcolm’s good arm and helps to pull him up from the bed, steadying him with a hand on his left hip, below where all of his injuries are. “How often do you get the offer of breakfast in bed? You sure you don’t want to take advantage?”</p><p>Gil is well aware of how obvious he’s being with his attempts at distraction, but it doesn’t stop him from trying. He has a sinking feeling that he knows exactly what Malcolm is going to say if he hears what John Watkins is proposing, and Gil is not okay with it.</p><p>Once Malcolm is steady on his feet, Gil is pinned by his piercing eyes and he knows he can’t avoid it any longer. He grits his teeth and says, “Apparently John Watkins is offering up the names of his victims, but he’ll only tell them to you.”</p><p>Gil stands at the ready, bracing for some sort of panic attack, but instead watches as Malcolm's face steels into something hard and unreadable.</p><p>"What are his terms?" Malcolm's voice is cold and distant and leaves Gil with a new kind of anxiety for the younger man bubbling up inside of him.</p><p>"It doesn't matter. This is not happening, Bright," Frankly, Gil doesn't give a flying fuck about getting names from John Watkins. The CSU techs are already working on it so there's a good possibility they'll have the names eventually anyways. It's too late to help all of the people that John Watkins killed over the last two decades, but it's not too late to help Bright.</p><p>Malcolm's good hand is clenching and releasing over and over at his side and Gil can see the fine tremor that's spreading up from his fist through his arm and blanketing his body. "Get the information and then we can decide. I need to use the bathroom."</p><p>"Bright…"</p><p>Malcolm turns and makes his way slowly towards the bathroom, leaving Gil standing useless and confounded beside the bed. He doesn't understand how Malcolm can even be considering this.</p><p>Actually, on second thought, he understands it completely. Because Malcolm himself has always been the lowest priority in Malcolm's life. The kid would sacrifice anything and everything if he thought that he would be doing some good. If he's given the chance to provide closure to the families of all of Watkins victims, he's going to do it. Even if it shatters him irreparably in the process.</p><p>Gil drops his face into his hand and stands there for a moment, trying to come up with something that could reasonably talk Malcolm out of it. When he doesn't come up with anything, he heads back towards the living room, intending to call JT back, but is stopped in his tracks as he hears the faint sound of crying over the rush of water in the bathroom. He wavers, debating if he should knock on the door, but realizes that Bright is going to need time to work things through on his own every now and again.</p><p>He pulls himself away with a heavy heart and calls JT back from the kitchen, hoping that Malcolm won't be able to overhear.</p><p>JT answers immediately. "Everything okay?" The detective is worried; Gil can hear it in his voice and feels badly about ending the call so abruptly.</p><p>"Yeah, sorry," he says, leaning up against the counter next to the fridge. "Bright overheard me."</p><p>JT's muttered curse makes Gil smile. "Let me guess. Dude wants to play Watkins' game?" JT sounds as annoyed by the idea as Gil is.</p><p>"Yep."</p><p>"For fuck's sake. Kid needs to work on his self preservation skills."</p><p>"No arguments here. He wants to know what Watkins' terms are."</p><p>There's a pause on the other end of the phone and when JT finally starts talking, it's practically a snarl. "That sick fuck say he'll give specifics on one victim for every hour Malcolm spends with him."</p><p>"How exactly does he want to spend this time?" A part of Gil is hoping for something terrible. Something he can firmly put his foot down against and end the conversation before it gets any further. Of course, he's not that lucky.</p><p>"Says he just wants to talk. In an interrogation room with John cuffed to the table, just the two of them."</p><p>"I still don't like it."</p><p>"Me either, boss."</p><p>Gil huffs out a breath and decides that he's going to have to talk to Malcolm about it—to try and talk Malcolm out of it—before anything else can be decided. "Alright, thanks, JT. I'll be in touch."</p><p>"Sure thing. He need anything? I could swing by with one of Tally's casseroles if you guys need some food or something."</p><p>"We're good for now JT, but thanks. I'll let you know if we need anything." Gil's proud of his team for coming together. They were at the hospital every day once they found Malcolm, never pushing but making sure he knew they were there for him, even if Malcolm was zoned out half the time.</p><p>Gil hangs up the phone just as he hears the door to the bathroom open. He busies himself with pouring a glass of ice water and setting it on the bar before he moves on to making coffee. He's just pouring some into a mug for himself when Malcolm makes his way to the breakfast bar.</p><p>"Coffee?" Gil holds the French press up in invitation.</p><p>Malcolm nods and Gil slides the mug over before moving back and grabbing another mug for himself, filling it up with the warm, rich brew. They both take their first few sips in silence, letting the heat warm them up from the inside out. A few moments later, Malcolm finally looks up at Gil with the question burning in his eyes.</p><p>"Watkins says he'll give a name for every hour you spend with him. But look, Bright, CSU is already working on identifying the remains that were recovered from the junkyard," Gil's quick to point out the most logical reason he can think of as to why this is unnecessary.</p><p>"But what if there's more victims, Gil? What if we haven't even discovered one of his dumping grounds? He's been killing for over 20 years, I highly doubt there's only 19 victims." Malcolm looks down at his coffee as he speaks, holding his free hand against the side of the cup to absorb the warmth. "Besides, we don't know what happened with the victims that he killed with my father. This could be the only opportunity we ever get to acquire information about those victims."</p><p>Suddenly things make so much more sense. This isn't just about Malcolm's pitiful lack of self worth. It's about The Surgeon. Again. It shouldn't surprise him, really—everything the kid does seems to lead back to his father in one way or another—but somehow it does. He missed the connection in this situation.</p><p>He wants to tell the kid that his father is not his responsibility but he already knows it will fall on deaf ears. He's been fighting that battle for 20 years and has never gained an inch of ground.</p><p>He was hoping he could talk Malcolm out of it without bringing up his fragile mental state, but at this point he feels he needs to try anything to make Bright say no to this ludicrous idea. "Kid, I don't think it's a good idea for you to face Watkins after everything he did to you. You're just starting to function again and I don't want to set back the progress you're making." Gil notices Malcolm's jaw clench but gently presses on. "You can barely close your eyes without seeing him. I don't think exposing you to him again is going to help with that."</p><p>"You're right," Malcolm says so quietly that Gil thinks he might have imagined it. Malcolm inhales sharply and continues a little louder. "Every time I close my eyes, I see him. I see him hurting me, looming over me, flaunting his power over me. Maybe if I see him now, cuffed to a table while I'm free, while I have the power, my brain can finally move on." Malcolm looks up from his mug, blue eyes pleading. "Gil, I think I might need this."</p><p>Well, shit. Gil really wanted to talk Malcolm out of this. To make it Malcolm's decision not to go. If he couldn't swing that, he was planning on pulling rank and forbidding the whole thing anyway. But now…</p><p>Gil paces the kitchen a few times, trying to decide what to do. He's well aware Malcolm could be manipulating him and telling him the only thing that could possibly get him to agree. It's not that the kid is conniving, but he understands people in a way the few others can, and he knows how to sway situations to get to his desired outcome. Unfortunately, more often than not, the road to that outcome ends with Malcolm hurt, which makes Gil question his motives.</p><p>But if there's any chance that Malcolm is being honest here, any chance that it might give him some closure and let him move on, Gil has to let him try.</p><p>"Okay," Gil reluctantly agrees, "but I'll be watching from observation and if I feel it's doing more harm than good, I'm pulling you out."</p><p>Malcolm nods and pushes himself off the stool with a quiet, "Thanks Gil," before he heads over to get ready for the day.</p><p>Gil gives him a few moments of privacy before heading over to help him get dressed and then taking a few minutes to get himself ready. A half hour later, they're out the door and heading to the precinct.</p><p>JT is pacing the sidewalk as Gil pulls up in front of the station, moving right to Malcolm's door as the car slows to a stop. He pulls the door open and leans down, but keeps a respectful distance, obviously not wanting to pose any sort of threat. Gil is reminded once again just why he chose JT for his team.</p><p>"Hey man, it's good to see you. How you holding up?" JT's tone is quieter than usual. Less harsh.</p><p>Gil watches Malcolm offer a timid smile to the detective, along with a quiet, "It's good to see you, too."</p><p>Gil slides out of the car and sidles over to the passenger side. With some careful maneuvering and only a small amount of cursing, they get Bright out of the car and make their way into the station, Gil studiously ignoring the questioning look JT casts at his swollen lip. Gil feels a cloud of anxiety mushrooming inside him with every step. He's keeping a close eye on Malcolm, worried about how well the kid can really hold up to facing his trauma while it's still so fresh.</p><p>They head to Gil's office first to go over what's about to happen. Dani is already waiting for them and gets to her feet, chewing on her lip as she waits for the men to make their way in.</p><p>"Hey, Bright," she says, reaching out slowly and giving his hand a squeeze when he doesn't pull back. "You sure about this?"</p><p>"Um. No? Not really. But I think I need to try." Malcolm's honesty with the team is a bit unexpected and, oddly, makes Gil feel just a little better about Malcolm's decision making capabilities. He seems to be self-aware enough to admit that he's not sure about the plan, which means he's not just blindly rushing into this without thought.</p><p>Dani and JT share a look of concern but Gil gives them a solemn nod and they all move deeper into the office. JT helps to lower Malcolm onto the couch and then seats himself at the other end. Dani and Gil pull the chairs over from Gil's desk to round out their gathering.</p><p>"He's in interrogation one," JT cuts to the chase. "He's secured to the table but I still don't like the idea of you going in there." The detective levels a disapproving gaze at Malcolm.</p><p>"JT," Dani and Gil both caution the man before he gets too heavy handed with the fragile profiler.</p><p>"It's fine," Malcolm raises his good hand to forestall any further disapproval from Gil or Dani. "I understand your reservations," he directs the statement to all three of the detectives. "But I have to try. For his victims and for me."</p><p>They all let that idea nestle in around them and it seems to ratchet down the tension that had been thrumming through the room. Gil watches JT and Dani turn their detective's gaze on Malcolm, picking up on all of his body language cues to make certain he's sure.</p><p>Dani, of course, is the first to get on board. "Okay. So how are we doing this?"</p><p>"Watkins was clear that it needs to be only him and Bright in the room," JT scowls. "I'm going to wait right outside the door. You need anything, just call out." JT looks Malcolm in the eye to make sure he understands and seems pleased with the small nod he receives in acknowledgement.</p><p>"Dani and I will be watching from observation. Like I told you before, anything happens that I don't like, I'm shutting it down." Gil waits for Malcolm's nod before continuing. "Anytime you want to leave, you leave. No one expects you to do this and no one will be upset if you can't."</p><p>Gil's known Malcolm for over 20 years. He recognizes the downcast look on his face immediately. Even if no one else would be upset if Malcolm has to leave the interrogation room, Malcolm would be incredibly disappointed in himself, and it kills Gil that he feels like that.</p><p>Malcolm runs his palm over his thigh and licks his lips. "Okay. Let's do this." He looks up to Gil, and Gil's not entirely sure if the almost pleading look in his eyes is asking to let him go through with this or to stop him. For a second, Gil debates on pulling the plug, but then Malcolm is painfully pushing himself to his feet and Gil jumps up to help. The next thing he knows, they're on their way to interrogation and he knows Malcolm will never turn back now.</p><p>Dani and Gil leave JT and Malcolm outside the door and enter the adjacent observation room, anxiously making their way to the two-way mirror. Gil's been so consumed with worry about Malcolm's reaction to seeing his captor that he hadn't had time to consider his own. He sees John Watkins relaxing in his chair, leaning as far back as the cuffs that are attaching him to the table will allow, looking entirely at ease, and Gil sees red.</p><p>His hands curl into tight fists beside him, fingernails biting into his palms as he stares at the man who tortured Malcolm. He's seriously considering going in there and doing something stupid when Dani's voice filters through to him.</p><p>"Boss? You good?"</p><p>Gil sucks a deep breath in through his nose and looks down at Dani, reading the concern in her eyes. He has to make a conscious effort to loosen his hands and unclench his jaw, and it takes a few mindful breaths before he can answer her. "Yes. I'm fine."</p><p>Dani raises an eyebrow, clearly disagreeing with the statement, and says, "He needs you to be level-headed and clear right now. As much as we'd like to go in there and take matters into our own hands, we need to be here for Bright."</p><p>She's right, of course. It's not easy, but Gil puts his anger aside for the time being and, with a terse nod to Dani, turns back to the interrogation room just as the door swings open.</p><p>Malcolm takes two steps into the room, looks up at John Watkins, and freezes with a look of absolute terror on his face.</p><p>Gil is running full tilt to the door before he even realizes he's moving.</p><p>---</p><p>
  <strong>8 Hours</strong>
</p><p>The sharp pain in Malcolm's side from John's boot slowly fades into a dull ache that flares with every breath. He remains curled up on the floor where John left him, rethinking his approach. He's still unsure what exactly John wants from him, why he didn't meet the same fate as Shannon. Obviously John wants something, the question is what. Malcolm suspects it's companionship, a connection with someone that he thinks is a kindred spirit. John seems to think that Malcolm is just like Martin, so it's possible that he's looking to rekindle the partnership that he had with The Surgeon all those years ago. He doesn't want to think about what's going to happen when John discovers that he's wrong about Malcolm.</p><p>Martin's voice still haunts him more often than he'd care to admit, '<em>we're the same</em>' floating around his head and making him doubt himself, even when the thought of turning out like Martin makes him feel queasy and cold. And now John sees something in Malcolm that makes him want to keep him alive. John told him in the tunnels that it was in his blood and that there was hope for him yet. Malcolm can't help the doubts that begin to crowd his mind until the door swings open once again and John enters the room.</p><p>He ignores the twinge in his muscles as he pushes himself back up to his knees, quietly waiting this time to let John make the first move. He needs more information before he can form a successful escape plan.</p><p>"Get on your stomach," John orders as he closes the door behind him, not even bothering to look at Malcolm.</p><p>Malcolm was hoping to stay silent and let John do all the talking this time, but there's a growing feeling of uneasiness spreading through his body as he takes in John's body language. He's avoiding eye contact, and his posture speaks to his shame about whatever he's planning.</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>"Because I told you to," John says as he circles behind Malcolm. "Don't make me ask you twice."</p><p>Malcolm's entirely sure that John is regurgitating justifications and threats that were leveled at him when he was a child, his grandparents permitting no argument from their heathen grandchild.</p><p>Malcolm weighs his options. He can do as he's told and hope that John doesn't hurt him, or he can try to fight, risking injury but demonstrating that he's not just willing to submit. He knows he doesn't have much time to decide; he can hear John shuffling restlessly behind him and knows the man won't wait much longer.</p><p>The ache in his ribs is what ultimately makes the decision for him. Malcolm realizes he can always fight more later, but if he starts now it's going to be hard to dial back if need be. He lowers himself to his stomach and wraps his fingers around the bolt in the floor as he waits, just to have something to do with his trembling hands.</p><p>It's only a few seconds before Malcolm can't tamp down his anxiety any longer and looks over his shoulder to see what John is doing.</p><p>He's just standing there. Watching.</p><p>And the look in his eyes makes Malcolm's blood turn to ice.</p><p>He's wrong. He has to be wrong. Nothing in the profile suggested that there were any sexual elements to any of John's murders, and the evidence recovered from the junkyard so far corroborates that fact.</p><p>But beneath the shame and the anger etched on John's face are clear signs of lust. And intent.</p><p>Malcolm's breath catches in his throat and he jerks himself up to his hands and knees as he attempts to put some space between himself and the threat behind him but John is faster and grabs onto Malcolm's ankles and yanks, <em>hard</em>. He slams to the ground as he's pulled back far enough that his arms stretch taut over his head, cuffs chafing at his wrists, as he's forced flat on his stomach. His arms are useless, pulled so tight that his joints are straining painfully, but he uses his legs to kick out as hard as he can. Malcolm's foot connects with something soft and John's pained grunt let's Malcolm know where to aim his next kicks.</p><p>He lands a few more glancing blows before the bulk of John's weight settles on his thighs, effectively rendering Malcolm helpless.</p><p>"John," Malcolm pants, winded from the struggle and from the fear that's threatening to eat him alive. "John, this isn't you. You don't need to do this." The panic is ringing loud and shrill in his words but he can't stop trying to talk his way out of what's about to happen. "You're a saviour, right? You've been working all these years to complete a mission. This isn't part of that mission."</p><p>His wrists are starting to bleed where the metal is scraping up against the bone, but still he struggles. He feels John reach underneath of him, thick fingers making quick work of his button and fly even as Malcolm's strains to keep his hips flat on the ground.</p><p>John leans back on Malcolm's legs, sitting on his calves as he carelessly tugs down Malcolm's pants and briefs, a small cry falling from Malcolm's lips as the waistband briefly catches on his cock, tugging painfully on the sensitive flesh. Within seconds, his pants are around his knees and his ass is bared to John.</p><p>Malcolm's sliding full speed into an uncontrollable panic, his lungs burning from the short huffing breaths that he can't seem to control. <em>This can't be happening</em>, he thinks to himself as John's hands land on his ass cheeks and pry them apart, but then John spits twice onto his hole and the slimy wet feeling against his most private area assures him that it most definitely is happening.</p><p>He feels John shift his weight above him, moving back up to straddle his now bare thighs. Malcolm's struggle increases as soon as John's weight has left his calves, but he's unable to gain any ground. The sound of John's zipper and the rustle of his clothes as he frees himself send icy daggers to Malcolm's heart and he begins to beg as John spits once again, and though Malcolm can't see what he's doing, the damp sound of skin on skin tells him that John is slicking himself up.</p><p>"Please. Fuck, please don't do this. I'll do whatever you ask." A hot prickle starts behind his eyes as he truly contemplates what's about to happen, tears clouding his vision and starting a steady stream down his cheeks. "Please, John. Jesus, you don't have to do this. Please."</p><p>His begging comes to an abrupt and startling end as the head of John's cock runs up against his rim and he freezes as his breath catches in his chest. He can barely even struggle as John adjusts his position to push Malcolm's pants down to his ankles so he can spread Malcolm's legs apart and settle himself in the V of his splayed legs. Malcolm's own pants are now acting as an additional restraint and keeping his legs secured around John's body.</p><p>John's pleased grunt as he pushes into Malcolm's body is drowned out by Malcolm's shattering scream. He can feel the tearing at his rim and further inside as John thrusts all the way in until his balls press up against Malcolm's skin.</p><p>Malcolm's scream turns into shuddering sobs as John starts to move, pulling out slowly before slamming back in, picking up speed as the movement becomes more slick with Malcolm's blood.</p><p>John has one large hand pressed firmly between Malcolm's shoulder blades, the majority of his weight pressing down on Malcolm's back, making it impossible for him to even shift his body. It makes breathing difficult, too, his lungs compressed beneath the weight of the man. That, combined with his hitched sobs, is dangerously depleting his oxygen and making him dizzy, pinpricks of blackness edging their way into his field of vision as John grunts above him.</p><p>He feels like he's being split in half, the sting of the tearing taking a backseat to the overwhelming pressure inside of him as John pounds into him. It <em>hurts</em> in a way he's never felt before.</p><p>"Please stop," Malcolm can barely get the words out, but he continues to use the meager amount of air in his lungs to beg for John to stop. He could handle a beating, but this, this is too much.</p><p>Malcolm's pleas don't even register with John, who picks up the pace, fucking violently into Malcolm, his grunts and groans getting louder and louder as chases his release.</p><p>Every thrust shifts Malcolm forward a tiny bit, taking the strain off of his shoulders and wrists for a moment, only to be pulled back roughly any time his restraints allow him the smallest amount of slack. To make matters worse, his cock is scraping against the rough concrete floor with every rock of his body and he can't even adjust himself to lessen the contact.</p><p>He's fairly certain he's about to pass out when John's rhythm falters and he grinds against Malcolm as he shoots his load deep inside of him, the warmth spreading and filling Malcolm in a way that's somehow worse than all of the pain he's just endured.</p><p>John lets out one throaty exhale before he pulls out of Malcolm's hole, warm liquid spilling out as his cock comes free, and Malcolm doesn't know if it's come or blood but it makes the bile rise in his throat and flood his mouth. The weight is suddenly removed from his back and he spits out the bile before he takes a gasping breath in.</p><p>John has the decency to yank Malcolm's pants most of the way up, far enough that once Malcolm is able to move, once his body stops shaking so hard that he can control his movements, he'll be able to pull them up the rest of the way.</p><p>"Do you have something to say Malcolm?" John asks as he tucks himself back into his pants.</p><p>Malcolm closes his eyes and tries to sink into the floor. To disappear into the earth below.</p><p>"Malcolm, when someone gives you a gift, you thank them. Manners are what separate us from the animals." Even as he's falling into shock Malcolm is able to infer that Matilda repeated that phrase to John repeatedly throughout his life.</p><p>Malcolm continues to shake on the floor but says nothing until John's heavy boot presses threateningly on Malcolm's ass, wiggling the sole into his crack and brushing against his abused and puffy hole.</p><p>Malcolm's shout turns to a whimper and he sobs a quiet, "Thank you, John."</p><p>John gives him one last nudge before he pulls his foot back. Malcolm waits until John's footsteps have faded away before he stops trying to hold back and cries until he can't cry anymore.</p><p>---</p><p>Malcolm is paralyzed by fear as soon as he locks eyes with John Watkins. It's not that his mind shuts down, so much as it starts spinning so fast that it leaves him unable to move or process anything.</p><p>He knew it would be difficult to face John. He had prepared himself for the flood of fear that was bound to consume him, readied himself for the rage and the anxiety that seeing his captor was bound to provoke.</p><p>He wasn't at all prepared for the shame that was threatening to annihilate him.</p><p>John's lips turn up in a salacious grin as his eyes wander down Malcolm's body, his gaze possessive, like he somehow owns him now. "Little Malcolm."</p><p>His body feels like it's about to collapse but more urgent is the nausea that is crawling from his stomach up his throat. His skin is suddenly clammy and he's had enough experience with throwing up in his life to recognize the signs for what they are. He turns on his heel and runs out of the room, colliding with both JT and Gil but pushing through them both as he races to the bathroom. He only just makes it into the stall before he heaves and throws up the meager contents of his stomach, the contractions in his muscles making him groan in pain.</p><p>He doesn't remember falling to his knees but he must have because all of a sudden he finds himself kneeling as he slumps against the wall of the stall. He's faintly aware of the light bang of the door as someone else enters the bathroom but he's still so busy trying to calm himself down that he doesn't pay it any mind until he hears Gil's voice asking, "Malcolm?"</p><p>He tries to respond but it's little more than a whimper. Next thing he knows, the stall door is slowly opening and Gil is sliding sideways in through the small crack of the door and looking down with clear signs of worry etched on his face.</p><p>There's hardly enough room in the stall for the two of them, but Malcolm can see that Gil has no intention of leaving him alone. Malcolm manages a few breaths in and out, trying to quiet his unsettled stomach before he reaches his good hand up to Gil and lets the man help him to stand. It's awkward, getting him to his feet given the tight space and the immobilized arm, but with help Malcolm is soon upright and wrapped loosely in Gil's arms.</p><p>"This okay, kid?" There's a tremor in Gil's voice that Malcolm can't quite place, as general worry about the situation or a more specific worry about touching him.</p><p>Malcolm lets himself curl into Gil's embrace. "Yeah, Gil. This is fine. Thank you." He feels the panic begin to subside, Gil's strength once again lending him strength of his own. Malcolm takes advantage of the comfort for a moment, but soon the shame begins to seep through his fragile peace and he feels wrong for accepting this from Gil. Dirty.</p><p>Gil must feel the tension seizing his muscles, because he brings his hand to the back of Malcolm's neck and strokes his thumb soothingly over his skin. "You want to talk about it?" Gil offers.</p><p>Malcolm's not sure that he can. The sickening feeling of being unclean is overwhelming and all-consuming and Malcolm fucking hates himself all of a sudden. The rational part of his brain is telling him he has nothing to be ashamed about, but that doesn't change the fact that he feels the kind of dirty that no amount of showering can ever wash away. He pulls back but there's nowhere to go and even with his back pressed up against the stall he's still only inches away from Gil. All at once, the walls seem to be closing in on him, the small space becoming impossibly smaller, threatening to crush him where he stands. He needs space. He needs air. Why is there no air?</p><p>"Kid, you need to breathe," Gil reaches out but Malcolm slams himself painfully back into the wall to get away from the touch. Gil raises his hands in surrender but makes no move to leave the stall. "Malcolm, please, you need to take a breath."</p><p>Malcolm can hear the words but he can't seem to assign any meaning to them. His heart is hammering against his ribs so hard that the reverberations are shaking through the rest of his body. The walls are closing in at an alarming rate and he knows he's about to be crushed. Everything is getting a little fuzzy around the edges and his chest is burning and Gil's voice sounds like it's echoing through a tunnel and his body hits the floor before he realizes he's falling.</p><p>He can hear Gil calling out for JT. It's not until much later that he realizes that JT must have been standing just outside the door, because suddenly there are hands on him and he's being carried out of the stall and set gently on the floor out by the sinks.</p><p>When he sees Gil's face hovering over him, pained eyes staring down and mouth moving in words that he can't hear, he finally manages to suck in a breath. And then another. It takes nearly a quarter of an hour for Malcolm to calm himself enough to sit up and notice that JT is still in the room, standing guard with his back against the door, arms crossed over his broad chest, keeping anyone from entering.</p><p>He's still trembling, still feels the need to get outside, get somewhere open, somewhere with more air and fewer walls pressing in on him, but the near-hysteria seems to have receded.</p><p>Gil is sitting on the floor beside Malcolm's legs, facing him but waiting for Malcolm to make the first move, giving Malcolm the space he needs to calm his frayed nerves. Somehow, Gil always seems to know just what to do, and Malcolm is reminded once again of how incredibly fortunate he is to have Gil in his corner.</p><p>"Sorry," Malcolm finally says. "That was unexpected."</p><p>Gil and JT both raise an eyebrow at the completely unnecessary apology, but JT remains silent at his post as Gil asks, "Are you alright?"</p><p>He's not really sure how to answer that. He thought he'd made some progress last night, and now he's worse than he was before. He's angry at himself—for feeling ashamed and afraid, for showing weakness in front of Watkins, for failing at the one thing he could do to help bring closure to the families of John's victims.</p><p>He decides to ignore all of that and address the panic attack that's led to them commandeering the men's room at the precinct. "I need some air."</p><p>Gil pushes himself to his feet and reaches a hand out, once again letting Bright choose to make contact. Unfortunately, Malcolm knows he's going to need a little more help getting up this time than just that. His battered body is protesting all the additional trauma he inflicted on it during his panic attack and he's not sure he's going to be able to stand without some help.</p><p>"Uh. I think, maybe, I might need a little more help," he says apologetically, looking at Gil's hand rather than looking the man in the eye.</p><p>"Is it okay for me to touch you?" Gil asks. At Malcolm's tired nod he moves around behind him and threads his arm beneath Malcolm's free arm, wrapping firmly around his chest. "On three. One, two, three."</p><p>With a grunt from both men, they get Malcolm up and Gil releases him immediately, keeping a hand hovering nearby in case Malcolm starts to sway.</p><p>"Thank you. I just need a few minutes of fresh air and then I can try again. Now that I know what to exp—" the rest of Malcolm's explanation is cut off as Gil and JT both speak at the same time</p><p>"The fuck, man?" JT exclaims.</p><p>"Christ, Bright, you don't honestly think I'm letting you go back in there, do you?" Gil leans down to look Malcolm directly in the eye. "Dani's already taken him back to holding. We're done."</p><p>Malcolm's eyes go wide, "Gil, no! This could be my only chance to find out what happened to the girl in the box. And to get the names of all of John's other victims." Saying the man's name makes Malcolm's stomach roll but he stands firm as he pleads with Gil to let him try again.</p><p>Gil shakes his head and scrubs a hand over his goatee. "I'm sorry Malcolm, the answer is no. Maybe we can try again when you've had a chance to heal," Gil leaves the 'physically and mentally' unsaid but all three men hear it regardless. "But until then, I'm shutting this down."</p><p>Malcolm recognizes the look on Gil’s face. Growing up, Malcolm discovered early on that Gil had trouble saying no to him and as a teenager, he occasionally used it to his advantage. But every now and then, like when Malcolm wanted to come on a stakeout to catch a murderer, Gil would say no with such finality that Malcolm instinctively knew there was no changing his mind. He has the same look on his face now that he did back then.</p><p>He’ll never admit it out loud, but a tiny part of Malcolm is glad that Gil is taking the decision out of his hands. He honestly wasn’t sure how he was going to build up the nerve to walk back into that interrogation room. As badly as he wants answers, he has to admit to himself that Gil might be right; he’s not ready for this. The realization makes him blush, a very different sense of shame draping over him like a blanket.</p><p>JT must sense the change, because he steps forward to catch Malcolm’s eye. “It showed a lot of bravery that you were willing to try, man. No one’s gonna think less of you for walking away. We all want you safe.”</p><p>Malcolm can’t muster up the nerve to look the man in the eye, but he does murmur a heartfelt thank you.</p><p>“Alright kid, let’s get you home.” Gil says after a moment. JT waits for Malcolm’s quiet agreement before opening the door and leading the way, using his imposing size to clear a path through the precinct, Gil and Malcolm following in his wake.</p><p>They make it out to the LeMans with a minimum of fuss and find Dani leaning against the car. She's obviously been out there for a while, Malcolm thinks, given her rosy cheeks and the way she's standing with her shoulders hunched up around her ears, trying to fend off the cold. She straightens up as they get closer, eyes running over Malcolm to make sure he's alright.</p><p>"You good?" she asks, keeping it simple enough that he can provide whatever information he's comfortable with sharing.</p><p>He attempts a smile but even he can tell it's a bit of a failure. He nods once instead and she accepts it for what it is; he's not okay now, but he will be.</p><p>JT gets the door for him while Gil heads to the driver's side. He hesitates, though, looking at the confined space within the car. He feels ridiculous. He rode to the precinct maybe an hour ago and the thought never even crossed his mind. But now, he can feel his pulse kicking up a notch at the thought of getting in, feeling trapped before he even sets foot in the car. He doesn't even realize he's slowly backing away until he bumps into Dani and startles at the contact.</p><p>"I can't," he whispers.</p><p>---</p><p>
  <strong>87 hours</strong>
</p><p>He's been drifting in and out of consciousness for hours. In his lucid moments, he's aware that he has a fever and is quite certain that he's in shock. In his foggier moments, he hallucinates his father is with him. He alternates between trying to ignore the vision completely and carrying on stilted and half-hearted conversations with it. He's embarrassingly grateful for the company but doesn't want to encourage his mind to continue these games by interacting with his hallucinations.</p><p>"Malcolm," Martin's voice wakes him from the half-doze he'd fallen into while Martin was reading The Princess Bride aloud from where he had perched in the corner of the room.</p><p>Malcolm hums in response but doesn't open his eyes. He's trying to keep as still as possible, every minor movement causing excruciating pain as his injuries are ripped open or nudged in a way that leaves bone grinding against bone.</p><p>"My boy," Martin tries again. Malcolm opens his eyes this time, but doesn't even lift his head from where it's flopped on the floor. After John's last visit, he found the least painful way to lay was on his right side. His left side and back are out of the question and laying on his stomach now sends him spiraling into an anxiety fueled black hole that he's afraid he may never find his way back from.</p><p>"What?" he whispers.</p><p>"You must really be in rough shape, my boy. John's been gone for what? An hour? Two? And you haven't even noticed that he knocked the handle of that hammer over just far enough that you might be able to get it." Martin sounds moderately disappointed and Malcolm sneers in his direction.</p><p>He's annoyed with Martin's tone but can't help himself from looking over to the bag of John's tools. Martin is right. The handle of the hammer has been nudged over just far enough that he could probably stretch out and grab it with his feet. He closes his eyes and breathes for a moment, knowing just how much it's going to hurt.</p><p>"Best not dally, Malcolm. John could be back any moment."</p><p>Malcolm grunts in annoyance but moves to sit up, tears forming as a jolt of pain shoots through his shoulder. He scoots himself towards the hammer, every movement sparking a blazing pain in at least one part of his body. He knows what he's going to have to do to get the hammer and he's unsure if he's more afraid of lying on his stomach or stretching his arms over his head.</p><p>One last breath and he lays himself flat on the floor and starts shimmying himself down towards the bag. The wound on his side drags along the ground as he shuffles but it's nothing compared to the agony in his shoulder as his arms are pulled higher and higher above his head.</p><p>He tries to stay quiet at first, not wanting to draw John's attention, but by the time his arms are halfway extended, he's screaming in a sustained cry that bounces off the walls in a growing swell. When he's stretched out as far as he can go, he strains even further, his toes brushing against the handle of the hammer.</p><p>It takes too long. The pain is too much. He's about to give it up as a lost cause when he finally gets hammer grasped between his toes and gently tugs it towards himself. He's breathless and wheezing and so close to throwing up by the time he wriggles forward into a fetal position that he can't even make use of the hammer right away.</p><p>"Deep breaths, my boy, all the way into your abdomen. It will help to mitigate the pain."</p><p>As much as he wants to tell Martin to fuck off, he does as the man suggests and focuses on bringing the air all the way into his belly before blowing it out. The pain is still unbearable, but at least he can think. He allows himself just a moment to catch his breath before he pushes himself up and forces himself to take hold of the hard-won hammer.</p><p>"Good choice," Martin nods as he walks closer to Malcolm, "no sense in waiting for the pain to pass when you're about to cause yourself so much more."</p><p>Malcolm looks up at him in confusion. He was planning on using the hammer to try to break one of the links of the chain. It shouldn't cause him much pain at all.</p><p>"Oh, my boy, you don't actually believe you can use that insignificant hammer to break through those chains, do you?" Martin chuckles the same way he did when Malcolm used to put his shoes on the wrong feet.</p><p>Malcolm's eyebrows draw in as he stares at his father. What was the point of all that pain if Martin doesn't think the hammer is going to help?</p><p>"It's a blunt procedure, but it's your only option." Martin answers the unspoken question. "The diameter of the restraint is three inches. The width of your hand is five inches." Martin doesn't need to finish the sentence before Malcolm's stomach drops. "So all you have to do is, uh, make your hand three inches."</p><p>Malcolm's shoulders slump in defeat as he realizes that Martin is right and whimpers as the movement spikes through his shoulder. He uses the pain to motivate himself and grasps the hammer tightly with his right hand, squeezing with every bit of strength he has. He doesn't give himself time to rethink it, just pulls his right hand up as far as the chain will allow then brings it down with all the force he can muster onto his left hand, just below the thumb.</p><p>He screams so hard he can taste blood from his throat, but it doesn't matter because he's able to slide the cuff off over his shattered hand. He's free.</p><p>He has to crawl his way over to John's chair, one handed, in order to pull himself upright. His entire body is shaking as he stumbles his way to the door, but he presses on, knowing his only chance of survival is outside that door.</p><p>The taste of freedom is painfully short-lived. Just as Malcolm is reaching out for the door, it swings open, bouncing hard off the wall and John steps in, freezing at the sight of Malcolm, free from his chains.</p><p>Malcolm's exhaustion slows his reflexes enough that he doesn't stand a chance. By the time he remembers that he's still holding the hammer and takes a swing at the man, John's already recovered from the shock of his release and easily catches Malcolm's arm mid-swing. He pulls the hammer from his hand and tosses it to the wall before he backhands Malcolm and sends him sprawling to the floor.</p><p>"I see I'm just in time," John says as he turns back to the hallway, bending down to lift something heavy just outside the room.</p><p>Malcolm's eyes bulge and he starts to scurry away from John as the man carries a vintage steamer trunk into the room. Even in the dim light of the room, Malcolm can tell it's antique wood with heavy cast-iron hardware. Malcolm thinks that it might be beautiful but he knows what's coming and he can't. He <em>can't</em>.</p><p>"No, no, no," he begs as he moves as far away from John as he can, only stopping when his torn-up back collides with the wall. He doesn't even register the pain though, because he saw how John's grandparents punished him back when he was a child. Locked up in the dark.</p><p>John is going to do that to him now.</p><p>Lock him in the dark.</p><p>“I couldn’t find the original, little Malcolm, but I found an acceptable replacement, don’t you think? Your father told me all about your nightmares when you were just a boy. He figured the chloroform had somehow damaged you enough that this one memory really took hold and wouldn’t let you go. It’s like this one memory got pinned in place, while everything around it just slid away.”</p><p>As he’s speaking, John drags the trunk to the center of the room, right next to where Malcolm had been only a few minutes ago. He releases the latches on either side of the trunk and throws the lid back, leaving the inside of the trunk gaping and exposed.</p><p>“No, no, no, no,” Malcolm continues to whisper under his breath as his head shakes in aborted little tics.</p><p>Malcolm is frozen in place as John walks over and bends down, grasping Malcolm hard around each of his biceps and pulling up. The way it makes his shoulder grind leaves him swaying and struggling to stay conscious.</p><p>It’s only as John is trying to lower Malcolm into the trunk that he truly starts to struggle. He puts everything he has into it, throwing punches and kicks, contorting his body to try to squirm away, biting John’s hand when it gets too close to his mouth. He earns two stiff jabs to his jaw for that and while he's disoriented and confused, John shoves him down into the trunk and slams the lid shut, sliding a lock into the small latch.</p><p>Malcolm completely loses it as the lid closes on him, punching and kicking and trying to claw his way free, shouts and sobs blending together to become an incoherent wail. His thrashing is reopening all of his injuries, but he doesn't even feel it in his panic.</p><p>For nearly two hours, he shouts and fights against his confinement. Eventually though, his body gives up the fight and he collapses, boneless, into the bottom of the trunk. His hand is shaking quite badly, but the rest of him soon falls still, eyes glazing over as his mind shuts down to preserve his sanity.</p><p>When help finally arrives, he doesn't hear the thud of tactical boots as they stomp down the hall. He doesn't see the light that filters in as the lid of the trunk is finally lifted. He doesn't hear the sob that catches in Gil's voice as he kneels down and calls Malcolm's name. He doesn't feel the hands that lift him out of the trunk and lay him on the waiting stretcher.</p><p>He stops existing at all for several days.</p><p>---</p><p>Gil has one foot in the car when he notices the look of fear on Malcolm's face from across the roof and by the time Malcolm backs into Dani, he's already rushing back to the kid's side. The scared puppy dog look that often haunts Malcolm's features is magnified by a hundred and Gil is honestly afraid that he's about to bolt.</p><p>Dani and JT obviously feel the same way as they flank Malcolm, keeping him from running off and getting himself hurt, and Gil has never been more grateful for his team's cohesiveness.</p><p>"Malcolm," Gil says quietly, "kid, can you tell me what's wrong?"</p><p>Malcolm looks up at him with teary eyes, his face a mask of fear and confusion.</p><p>Considering how Bright reacted when he tried to reach out in the bathroom, Gil isn't sure it's the best idea, but he reaches out very slowly and places his hands on Malcolm's shoulders. When he doesn't flinch at the contact, Gil pulls him in, wrapping his arms gently around Malcolm's shaking frame as he tucks him into the safety of his chest.</p><p>Malcolm doesn't react at all for a moment, but soon he starts to relax and breathe a little deeper, eventually reaching his good arm around Gil's waist to fist in the back of his jacket.</p><p>Even though the temperature has dipped below freezing, JT and Dani stand their ground, shielding the two men from the inquisitive stares that are directed their way as officers make their way in and out of the precinct.</p><p>None of them move or speak until Malcolm is ready, prepared to stand there all day if that's what Bright needs to feel safe.</p><p>It's not long before Malcolm pulls himself from Gil's embrace and gives a depreciative chuckle. "Sorry, I'm a bit of a mess today."</p><p>"Just today?" JT mutters, but it lacks the bite his sarcasm usually contains. It's easy to see how worried the man is.</p><p>Bright huffs out something much closer to a real laugh and some of the tension finally dissipates.</p><p>Gil watches as Malcolm looks around him, taking in the protective stances of their team. He smiles softly as the kid looks up at him in surprise, glad to see that it's <em>finally</em> sinking in that he's part of the team and that they all truly care for him. He watches quietly as Bright processes that information, saddened that the realization is such an uncommon experience for him.</p><p>"What do you need, kid?" Gil finally asks. "We can go wait inside for a bit, go for a walk, grab a coffee somewhere?" He doesn't need Malcolm to explain what's going on in his head, he just needs to take him somewhere that he can feel safe.</p><p>"Actually, I think I might be okay to go home now, if that's alright?" Malcolm looks past Gil to the LeMans and seems pleased with what he sees.</p><p>"Okay."</p><p>Gil moves to the side so that Bright can carefully lower himself into the car, waiting a few seconds to make sure he's settled in before he closes the door on him and turns to his team.</p><p>"Thank you," Gil says sincerely to both of the detectives.</p><p>JT gives a brisk nod and Dani murmurs, "Of course," clearly communicating that no thanks is required. It's what you do for a team member. For a friend.</p><p>Gil jogs back to the driver's side and notices the small waves exchanged between JT, Dani, and Malcolm as he drops himself into the car. He gives Malcolm a quick look to make sure he's still hanging in there and then eases out into traffic.</p><p>They drive in silence for a while, Gil content to let Malcolm decide if he wants to talk or not. They're getting close to Malcolm's apartment when Bright finally speaks, staring down at his feet. "I'm sorry, Gil."</p><p>Gil grips the steering wheel a little bit tighter and takes a quiet breath before responding. The kid has a tendency to apologize when he really shouldn't at the best of times, but right now, after everything he's been through, it actually hurts Gil that Malcolm is apologizing.</p><p>"Bright, whatever it is that you think you need to apologize for, you don't. You've done nothing wrong. And nothing that's happened in the last couple weeks is your fault." He glances over to find Malcolm looking at him from the side of his eyes, his good hand rubbing over his thigh. "Spit it out, kid." Gil sighs.</p><p>"I know that what happened, what John did to me," Malcolm swallows hard, "it's not my fault. It might take some time to accept it, but I do know that, Gil." Malcolm finally looks up at Gil, eyes wide and earnest, and Gil can tell that he means it. He reaches a hand over to Malcolm's neck but stops before he makes contact, waiting for Malcolm's nod before he gives his neck a squeeze. Malcolm smiles but says, "I'm just sorry I couldn't get the information from Watkins."</p><p>"I hope you know how proud I am of you, kid," Gil says honestly. "The fact that you made it through what Watkins did to you is a testament to your strength, but it's more than that." Gil pulls the car up in front of Malcolm's apartment and throws it in park before angling his body to be able to look directly at Malcolm. "I see how hard you're trying, Malcolm, and I'm amazed at your strength. You were willing to face the man who did terrible things to you, just to get the names of victims from 20 years ago. God, kid, the fact that you were willing to try is more than anyone had any right to ask."</p><p>Gil knows that Malcolm is going to need a lot of support and reassurance over the coming weeks and he's more than happy to remind Bright of how strong he is whenever he seems to forget, even if, like now, he doesn't seem quite ready to hear it.</p><p>"Come on, let's go inside and I'll whip you up one of my famous omelettes, hmm?"</p><p>The journey up the stairs takes even longer than it did last time, with new bruises adding to the mix of other hurts, but soon enough he has Malcolm settled at the breakfast bar and he heads into the kitchen to begin brunch preparation.</p><p>He starts by dicing some peppers and onions and starting them cooking, adding some deli sliced ham and then cracking in the eggs and adding some shredded cheese and spinach to the mix.</p><p>It's not long before Gil's dishes up two plates of omelettes with toast, a much smaller portion for Malcolm, and brings the plates over to join Malcolm at the breakfast bar.</p><p>At Malcolm's raised eyebrow at his still substantial portion size, Gil just shrugs and smiles, "Can't blame me for trying. Just eat what you can."</p><p>Malcolm smirks and takes a forkful of the omelette, chewing slowly before swallowing and Gil notices how he takes a moment to make sure that the food is going to stay put before he moves to take a second bite.</p><p>Gil doesn't comment on it, doesn't want to make Malcolm self-conscious, but he can't help the light fluttering feeling in his chest as Malcolm eats nearly half of the omelette and even manages a few bites of toast. It's almost more than the kid has eaten in the last week combined.</p><p>Gil sits with Bright long after he's finished his own meal, until he's sure that Bright won't be eating anymore, before he takes their plates and goes to tidy up the kitchen.</p><p>"So," Gil says as he's drying their plates to put away, "What's on the agenda for today? More movies?"</p><p>Malcolm's quiet for long enough that Gil glances over his shoulder to see what's going on with the kid, raising an eyebrow in question.</p><p>"I appreciate everything you're doing for me Gil, but you know you don't need to waste all your time looking after me, right?" Malcolm offers the man an out.</p><p>Gil puts the plate and towel down on the counter and comes around to sit next to Malcolm, wrapping his hand over Malcolm's where it rests on the counter. "Kid, there's nowhere in the world I'd rather be."</p><p>He can feel Malcolm's keen gaze taking in every line on his face searching for a lie in the statement. He knows he'll find nothing but honesty, lips quirking up as he waits.</p><p>Finally Malcolm looks him in the eye and smiles. They both know it's going to be a long road for Malcolm, know that there will be setbacks along the way, but together, they'll get him through.</p><p>"How about a game of chess?" Malcolm asks.</p><p>"Don't think I'm going to take it easy on you just because you're convalescing," Gil warns with a grin.</p><p>"I'd expect nothing less," Malcolm laughs, and Gil thinks it's possibly the most beautiful sound he's ever heard.</p>
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